


What Would Matilda Do This Time?

by hansolo



Series: WWMD [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Harry Potter Has a Pet Snake, Harry Potter Has a Twin, Harry and Hermione are twins, Hogwarts Fourth Year, Matilda - Freeform, Minor Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Multi, Parseltongue, Potter Twins, Slytherin Harry Potter, Slytherin Hermione Granger, Triwizard Tournament, bond magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:28:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 86,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27505354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hansolo/pseuds/hansolo
Summary: Harry and Hermione Potter, known more commonly in the Wizarding World as The-Twins-Who-Lived (and now in some circles as the Heirs of Slytherin), have emerged triumphant after the end of third year. Sirius Black has been proved innocent and the traitor Peter Pettigrew has been unveiled.Their list of plans for the Summer is longer than Hermione's essays, and Fourth Year is fast approaching. What will happen to the Prophecy, and just what do their dreams actually mean?They should take care because the strings of fate are tightening around them, and they'll need all of Matilda's wisdom to make their way through.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: WWMD [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1803064
Comments: 372
Kudos: 436





	1. The First Day of Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Fourth Year is here!!  
> To everyone who has read and commented and left kudos so far, thank you so much!  
> I'm so excited to share this story with you, and hope you like the direction we're heading in for this part of the story. 
> 
> As always, mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Let me know what you think!  
> Lots of love and well wishes in these weird times xxx

It was only the first day of the Summer holidays and they were already arguing. Harry had woken far too early, in Hermione’s opinion, and had immediately sprung up and demanded that they get dressed and go to the hospital.

< It’s fucking 4am, Me! > Hermione moaned. < I don’t know what the visiting hours are, but I **know** they don’t include 4am. >

< Well, I’m getting dressed anyway, and we’re going at 6am! > Harry yelled, stomping to the trunk. Hermione stared up at the ceiling knowing there was no chance of sleep now with the bond heating up with Harry’s stress.

< I promise he’ll still like us, > Hermione said softly, hearing Harry pause at her words. < I promise he’ll want to live with us, want to be our godfather … no point hiding your heart, Me Me, what you feel I feel, remember. >

< And the same goes to you, Mi Mi, > he shot. < I can feel the fear in you too, like our heart might shatter if we lose this hope. >

Hermione snarled at him before she could help herself then stopped, taking a shuddering breath. < I hate when I have to be the nice twin, but I’m going to say to you what you said to me in first year … we’re just teetering on the edges where there previously were none. This is part of us getting free, Me. You said it, he’s our Miss Honey. > She dragged herself out of bed and crossed over to her brother. < Come here, > she said holding open her arms. < If he hurts us, I’ll just kill him, ok … how does that sound? > Harry looked at her, hesitation all over his face, before he leant in and hugged her tightly. < Come on, > she said. < Let’s go watch the sunrise, considering you’ve woken me up at this hideous hour. >

They trooped out and sat on their front step to watch first the last stars of night and then the morning sky, the early lavender haze of dawn and the soft breeze calming them. Harry startled as something flew down, only to relax when he realised it was Buckbeak. They’d half-forgotten he’d been in their trunk after the events of the Shrieking Shack and the Hippogriff had nearly given Hermione a heart attack when she had gone down into the trunk the next day. Unsure of what to do with the technically-fugitive Hippogriff, they’d thrown in some more dead voles they’d nicked from Hagrid, and figured what was one more weird pet at their place. Thankfully, Buckbeak seemed to thoroughly enjoy the fields surrounding Potter Manor and had settled in nicely.

Dobby wandered out a while later, surprising them with breakfast. Neither of them were quite sure what to do with the house-elf yet, both a little uncomfortable with having a servant, and very used to doing everything for themselves. When they asked what he'd actually been doing all year, Dobby had simply told them he had spent most of the year doing what ‘all good house-elves do, Master Harry’ – and promptly skipped away before either Harry or Hermione could ask him what on earth good house-elves actually did.

Hermione wrinkled her brow as something pulled at the bond, and she rifled back through her mind until she realised what it was. “Dobby,” she said, turning to the elf. “Do you remember when you said you’d be able to help with the wards? What did you actually do? Because it turns out that Sirius is actually alright, and we’re kinda hoping he’ll come here.”

“Dobby can fix that, Mistress Hermione,” he squeaked happily and clapped his hands and disappeared.

Hermione turned back to Harry. < We should probably try to find out what he means by that. He’s rather an independent elf, isn’t he? > Harry looked up from shovelling breakfast in his mouth and nodded. Hermione rolled her eyes. < Don’t let me interrupt you feeding your face, > she said, sipping at her coffee.

-/-

Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, Hermione had charmed Harry’s hair a sandy-blonde again and turned herself into a blonde as well. In their casual robes with their fringes hiding their matching scars, they were fairly unrecognisable. < You kinda look like Daphne actually, > Harry said, as Hermione braided back her curly blonde hair, wandering around the house and checking on all their pets. < Also, I know you’re purposefully taking a long time to get ready. >

< The only way any hospital lets us in before eight is if I break your goddamn arm, > Hermione replied. < I’m happy to do so, just let me know. >

< Well, it’s eight o’clock now, so can we please leave? > Harry said, nervously checking his reflection. Hermione bounced down the stairs and smiled at him and they headed out the door, hissing goodbye to Kid and Ty.

One wild Knight Bus trip later, and they were at what Stan Shunpike, the conductor, assured them was the visitor’s entrance to St Mungo’s. Clutching hands, trying to avoid being buffeted by the busy crowds making their way along the street, they looked up at what appeared to be a large, old-fashioned, red-brick department store called Purge & Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the windows displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modelling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read: _Closed for Refurbishment_. They distinctly heard a large woman laden with plastic shopping bags say to her friend as they passed, “It’s never open, that place …”

< Well, you’re the brains, > Harry said, looking grimly around. 

< Well obviously it’s a hidden entrance, > Hermione snapped. < Like how Muggle eyes just slide over the Leaky Cauldron … but I also can’t see a door. > They stepped closer to the building, eyes searching every inch trying to figure out the trick to getting in, when Harry was knocked by a passer-by and tripped – but instead of falling into the glass, he fell straight through and landed on clean floor. Hermione shrieked loudly as her brother suddenly disappeared, only for him to stick his hand back out and yank her into the crowded reception area.

They looked around to see rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of _Witch Weekly_ , others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises: a sweaty-faced witch in the centre of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth; a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself by the ears to hold it steady.

Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards. Harry pointed out the emblem embroidered on their chests: a wand and bone, crossed. < Must be the doctors, > he muttered.

< They’re called Healers, > Hermione replied in a prim voice, finally spotting what she was looking for, and marching over to the desk marked _Enquiries_. A plump blonde witch sat behind the desk and the wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like: A CLEAN CAULDRON KEEPS POTIONS FROM BECOMING POISONS. There was also a large portrait of a witch with long silver ringlets which was labelled: _Dilys Derwent, St Mungo’s Healer 1722-1741, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 1741 – 1768_. Hermione nudged Harry to speak when the blonde witch called out “Next” in a bored voice.

“Err – we’re here to see Sirius Black?” Harry said, the words coming out like a question.

“First floor,” the witch replied. “Next!”

They hurried away, heading towards the marked double doors and out into the corridor beyond, climbing a flight of stairs and entering the Creature-Induced Injuries Corridor. Harry saw a floor guide and walked over to it, scanning through the various wards on the first floor. < What one do you reckon? > he said, scanning past the _Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites_. < Hang on, probably this one. > He pointed at the sign reading the _Eldritch Diggory Ward for Exposure_. Hermione shrugged and they headed down the corridor towards the ward.

They both paused at the entrance, looking at each other, until Harry finally lost the staring contest and pushed through the door first. The ward was brightly lit, sunlight streaming in from the large windows, more light coming from shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were painted a soft blue and there were many potted plants scattered around the ward, some of them flowering, lending the place a sweet fragrance. The place seemed empty but for a curtain drawn around a bed at the far end of the ward. Not bothering to lose another staring contest, Harry gritted his teeth and marched towards it, letting slip a loud sigh of relief when he found Sirius lying asleep in said bed. He already looked healthier, his skin had lost that gaunt waxiness, and he had clearly been scrubbed top to bottom, his wavy black hair now shiny and cut to his shoulders. Hermione eyed off the various tattoos poking out of the hospital gown, before casting her eyes around the room, finally spotting what she was searching for - his medical file - and sneaking over to it. < Cover me, > she said, as she started to flick through it quickly.

< Are you mad? > Harry hissed. < We’re here to visit our godfather and see how he’s going, not massively invade his fucking medical privacy! >

< I wanna know what’s wrong with him, what the Healers think, how long they think he’s gonna be here, > she said, < so stop panicking and go and watch the door. >

Swearing under his breath, Harry glanced to make sure Sirius was still asleep before stomping towards the door. < Know that I thoroughly disapprove, > he muttered, peeking out into the corridor. < We’re also … well, basically his family, right? Surely we could just ask his Healer. >

< Gods, stop acting like a Hufflepuff, > Hermione said. < Oh and cancel the spell on your hair … the Trace shouldn’t matter here, too much magic around … but we don’t want Sirius to wake up and think there are strangers in his room. >

< Nope, no strangers here, just a pair of lunatics invading his privacy, > Harry muttered.

< This looks pretty promising really, > Hermione said happily. < Prolonged Dementor exposure, malnutrition, nightmares, anaemia, muscle wasting … some weird infection I’ve never heard of … >

< How the **fuck** does that look promising? > Harry interrupted.

< If you’d let me finish, > she snapped. < According to this, he’s making good progress, they can fix most of his problems, but he’ll need ongoing mind healing to deal with his nightmares. I think that is pretty promising … it doesn’t sound like he’ll need to be in for much longer … hmm, what else … he’ll need to keep up nutrition potions and get plenty of sunlight. > She flicked through a few more pages rapidly. < Ah, here it is … > She ran her fingers down the page, eyes scanning back and forth, before breaking into a big smile. < His magical core hasn’t been affected … thank the gods! >

< Dementors can affect your magical core? > Harry said, turning around in surprise.

< It’ll have something to do with their effect on souls, > Hermione said. < Obviously, if you get the Dementor Kiss then you lose your soul, but prolonged exposure can weaken your soul and thus weaken your magic too, apparently. There’s not a lot of research but I looked into what I could find after that discussion with Professor Lupin. >

Suddenly, there was a loud crashing noise. Hermione startled and dropped the medical file, papers scattering everywhere. Harry frantically scanned the room but couldn’t see anything different then dashed for the door and peeked out. < Fuck, > he said, his eyes widening as he recognised the uniform. < Fuck fuck fuck. Hurry up and put that file back because I’m pretty sure some very angry looking police wizards are about to pile in here. >

< WHAT? > Hermione screeched, diving frantically on all the loose scraps of parchment, trying to shove them all back into the file. < Also, they’re called Aurors, remember. >

< Priorities, Mi, > Harry said, grabbing the last loose pages and shoving them into the file. They frantically threw it back where Hermione had found it as the footsteps grew louder. Harry dragged her over to the bed and they quickly sat down, trying to look like normal relatives doing the normal thing of visiting their normal sick family member. They both jumped as the door crashed open and several people piled into the room. < Oh gods, we’re going to be arrested, > Harry cried. < You just had to look, didn’t you? >

Sirius jerked up in bed, the noise breaking through his deep sleep, and stared around in utter confusion. There were three men and one woman, all dressed in the dark red Auror robes, a large M stamped on the left side. The leader stepped forward. Harry carefully noted the yellowish eyes behind the wire-rimmed glasses, the streaks of grey in his tawny hair, the slight limp he had. “We apologise for the intrusion,” the man said in a deep voice, “but we had to come at once to check.”

“Check what?” Hermione said. Harry yanked her back over the bond, pinching his brow at her impolite tone.

“That Sirius Black is still alive,” the man replied. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news … Peter Pettigrew has escaped from custody.”


	2. God ... Dogfather

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fucking Pettigrew ... but ya know, the wheels of fate and prophecy and all that.  
> At least Sirius is free. 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has already started reading this story and left a comment or kudos. Love y'all lots.

There was a loud growl and Sirius transformed into the large black bear-dog, his sharp teeth bared. Hermione had also thrown herself forward, her teeth bared, at the same time. Harry wondered when he’d become the only sane man around, and pushed past his sister and his god … dogfather. “How can he have escaped?” he said calmly, ignoring both his rising panic and the growls coming from Sirius (or at least, he hoped they were coming from Sirius). 

The Head Auror pulled his wire-rimmed spectacles off, a tired expression on his face. “We don’t know,” he said. “He was being transported at the time and somehow managed to break free. Two of our Aurors are dead as a result.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Harry said quietly, trying to ignore the utter panic still rising, the bond shaking between them. “I realise we haven’t introduced ourselves. I’m Harry Potter, and this is my sister, Hermione.”

The Auror snorted. “We know who you are,” he said. “I’m not sure there’s anyone alive who doesn’t know who you are. It’s an honour to meet you. I’m Rufus Scrimgeour, Head of the Auror Department.”

< Well, he runs a fucking incompetent department, doesn’t he? > Hermione said savagely. Harry was just relieved she hadn’t said it out loud. “What are you doing to find Pettigrew?” she demanded.

There was a noise at the door, and the Aurors turned immediately with wands outstretched, only to look incredibly sheepish as a Healer entered the room. “What’s going on here?” she asked, looking around the room. “I was only gone for fifteen minutes.”

“My apologies, Healer Denbright,” Scrimgeour said smoothly. “We held concerns over the safety of your patient. I am relieved to say that he is unharmed. We will be on our way.” He turned to face Sirius and the twins again. “We will update you if we find anything. Rest assured that we will stop at nothing to find him. Please contact us if you need us.”

“Hang on,” Harry said. “You have no idea how he escaped? What are you going to do to find him? He stayed hidden for **twelve** years!”

“Our world knows about him now,” Scrimgeour said. “He will not be able to hide so easily.” Before Harry could say anything else, they swept from the room, leaving the healer staring at Sirius in his dog-form.

< Do you realise what this means? > Hermione said, breathing heavily. < He’s broken free! >

< Oh fuck, > Harry said, as Trelawney’s words rose up between them. < Fuck, should we have told the Aurors? >

< That the mental Divination Professor had a seizure on the top of the Astronomy Tower and said the Dark Lord’s going to rise greater and more terrible before after his servant breaks free to rejoin him? That yes, we **were** the only ones to witness this, > Hermione said. < That sounds fucking insane, even for our usual levels of insanity. I really don’t know if they’d believe us. Most people seem to think Voldemort is gone for good. >

< What are we going to do? > Harry said, starting to really panic now. < We can’t just sit on this information. They need to find Pettigrew and stop him. >

“Umm, excuse me,” the Healer said, staring at them curiously. “Can I assume that you’re here to visit Sirius?”

They glanced up at the Healer, derailed from their conversation. < Clearly you don’t need high marks to get into healing, > Hermione said, causing Harry to cover up his bark of laughter with a cough. “Yes, we are, ma’am. I’m Hermione, and this is my brother, Harry. We’re his godchildren.” Hermione turned to Sirius with a raised eyebrow. “Turn back, I’m not going to interpret your woofs.”

With a shudder, Sirius rose up out of his dog form. “Sorry, instinct,” he said.

The Healer approached him, wand out and waved it an intricate pattern, various colours swirling around the room that she examined closely for several minutes before cancelling the spell. “You’re progressing really well, Sirius,” she said. “You should only need to stay another week at this rate.” She looked between the three of them. “I’ll leave you to be with your godchildren.” She swept from the room and closed the door.

Sirius looked at the two of them and a big smile broke out on his face. “You came to visit me.”

“Of course we did,” Harry said hesitatingly. “I … er – well, we were …“

Hermione interrupted. “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to live with us?” she said bluntly. < Gotta rip the bandaid off, Me. >

“Of course I meant it,” Sirius said with a frown. “I should have been the one to raise you from the start … I’m sorry that I failed you back then.”

“You didn’t fail us,” Harry said. “A lot of things failed you though … we’re just glad that you’re going to be ok.” There was silence again as everyone looked around awkwardly.

“Will your other family … what do they think about you coming to live with me?” Sirius asked, then watched, vaguely alarmed, as Harry and Hermione immediately looked at each other intently and remained silent for several beats, their eyes flashing back and forth.

< What do we tell him? > Harry said, unaware they were being scrutinised so closely. < Hey, we’ve been half-homeless runaways since we were eleven. We live alone with a bunch of weird animals. Uncle Vernon tried to shoot us with a gun. >

< Shut up, you’re not being helpful, > Hermione said. < Just lie, he doesn’t need to know everything right this second. >

“They think it’s great we have a magical guardian,” Harry said. “One who can actually support and visit us at Hogwarts.”

“Obviously, we can still visit them,” Hermione said, smiling at him with wide eyes. < We can, but we sure as fucking hell won’t. >

Sirius narrowed his eyes but let it go, tucking it away to deal with later. They settled in, the conversation largely revolving around Wormtail and how he might have escaped, what it would mean for them, what he might do. Sirius watched them closely throughout it all, watched all their interactions, and after they left – having organised to meet here again in one week - called for the Healer and asked to send a letter.


	3. The Mad Family Standards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sirius is on a mission

Three days later, against the protests of Healer Denbright, Sirius checked himself out of the hospital, and abruptly Apparated into Remus Lupin’s living room, causing him to scream and drop his cup of tea.

“Morning, Moony,” he said, grinning and cocking an eyebrow at his old friend.

“You’re supposed to be in hospital,” Remus protested, waving his wand to repair the cup. He trudged back into the kitchen to pour another cup, Sirius hot on his heels.

“I spent twelve years locked up,” Sirius said. “I’ve already spent over a week in that hospital … enough. There are things to be done. Too much of life has already passed me by.” Remus turned around, the grief evident in his hazel eyes. “Don’t,” Sirius said, waving his hand. “We could spend all day going over the past … it won’t change a damn thing. I forgave you a long time ago, Moony. I’m just glad you’re here with me now.”

“I should never have believed you were the spy,” Remus breathed, his heart heavy in his throat. “I betrayed you the moment the thought even crossed my mind.”

“Wormtail is the betrayer,” Sirius snarled, his grey eyes flashing. “And one day, I’m going to rip his throat out with my teeth … but I’m not here about that. He hid for twelve years; we’re not going to find him. I made the mistake before of going after him instead of doing my job – not again. I’m here about Harry and Hermione.”

Remus poured them both a cup of tea and went back into the living room, settling down onto the couch, indicating that Sirius should do the same. “I don’t even know where to start with those two,” he said.

“At the beginning,” Sirius said. “How did our godchildren end up living with fucking Petunia Dursley? When Hagrid said he was taking them there, I assumed it would only be temporary. Why are they still living there, despite the fact that it’s clearly not good for them?”

“Dumbledore placed them there after …” Remus immediately trailed off. He shook his head as his eyes briefly flashed gold and his grip tightened on his cup. “They were placed there by Dumbledore, and he cast blood wards around them in order to keep them safe.”

“Well, they didn’t work, did they?” Sirius growled. “I went looking for them after I escaped … just to catch a glimpse of them. Do you know how I found them?” Remus shook his head. “On the side of the road, running away from home, looking terrified and exhausted. They obviously thought I was just a dog when they petted me and told me they didn’t have a home. How can they have been put there? We all knew what Petunia thought of Lily. What about their Will?”

Remus sighed heavily. “I honestly don’t think anyone cared to check the Will. I tried to argue the case with Dumbledore because I knew that Lily and James had wanted Harry and Hermione to be raised by a wizarding family. He told me to drop it, that to bring it up would risk someone like your mother or the Malfoys trying to seek custody. That they were safest with the Dursleys, away from the Wizarding World. He forbade me from going near them, said the wards wouldn’t let me anyway. I did plan to try and catch glimpses of them from time to time but … well, Mum became really unwell. She’s passed now, but it took a lot out of me. Combine that with losing everyone else I’d ever loved, the monthly transformations, the difficulty ever getting a job … I figured they were better off without me.”

“I’m sorry, Moony,” Sirius said, nudging him with his leg. “I wish the world had been kinder to you.” He took a long sip of his tea. “How did you end up working at Hogwarts then?”

“You escaped from Azkaban, of course … and out of the blue, I get a letter asking if I want to come and work at Hogwarts,” Remus said wryly, a slightly bitter tone entering his voice. “I’ll admit that it did take me a while to figure that out … wilful blindness on my part really. I didn’t want to see the manipulation. But there I was, a Professor at Hogwarts …” he sighed. “I met Harry and Hermione on the train, they sat in the same compartment as me. I was asleep, it was just after the full moon … I woke up to a Dementor trying to attack them.”

“What?” Sirius exclaimed, looking horrified. “Why was there even one on the train?”

“Searching for you,” Lupin replied grimly. “Still doesn’t explain why it didn’t leave … it caused them to collapse and pass out. They hear Lily screaming as Voldemort murders her when the Dementors get too close … that’s what they told me. It was actually because of that incident that I got to know them a bit better … they asked me for lessons on the Patronus Charm.”

“Why didn’t you tell them who you are to them?” Sirius asked softly.

“I wanted to,” Lupin said mournfully. “I kept trying to … I just never seemed to find the words. They weren’t the cute chubby-cheeked kids I’d known and loved; they were strangers. Hard-faced, quiet, clearly suspicious of others, wearing Slytherin robes. My first Defence lesson with them was about Boggarts … besides Dementors, do you know what their greatest fear is?”

“I’m not sure I want to know,” Sirius replied honestly.

“I’ll tell you exactly how they described it to me,” Remus said. “It was Harry who told me – ‘I fear a life without Hermione, and she fears a life without me. We’ve been together our whole life; we have no other family.’ Sirius, these kids …”

“What?” Sirius growled as Remus fell silent, picking up on the tension in his body.

“There’s something odd about them,” he replied slowly. “I don’t know what it is, but I know I’m not the only one who has noticed it … it’s often a topic of discussion amongst the teachers, and indeed, occasionally amongst the students. You will **never** find one without the other, Hermione even goes to every single one of Harry’s Quidditch practices. Despite this, if you actually watch them closely, you’ll notice something odd – they rarely if ever actually speak to each other. They’ll look at each other, and from a distance it certainly looks like they’re having a conversation, but they don’t actually talk. It’s only around other people that they’ll speak, but even then … it’s mostly Harry who does the talking. Sometimes though, they’ll speak at the same time, and they’ll say the exact same thing. They don’t miss a beat … I’ve not seen anything like it before. That’s not all either,” he said. “Dumbledore actually told me this, wondering if I had any bright ideas about it. No-one can read their minds … not even Dumbledore. He’s tried, with their permission, and all he gets is the colour of their eyes and no further. Their minds are completely shielded.”

Sirius sat there in silence, trying to take it all in, his mind racing a million miles an hour. “What else do you know?” he asked desperately.

“They’re Parselmouths,” Remus said and Sirius’ jaw dropped. “They’ve got pet snakes and everything … but perhaps even more disturbing is the rumour that they’re the Heirs of Slytherin. I’ve even heard whispers that some students think they have Seer powers.”

“Do you have any happy things about them, Moony?” Sirius asked. “They’re thirteen years old, for crying out loud … do they have friends? What do they like? What do they do in their spare time?”

Remus broke out into a smile. “Harry is an amazing flyer, just like James. He won them the Quidditch Cup this year. And Hermione is the smartest in the year, easily. I … think they have some friends. Neville Longbottom is definitely their friend. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure about any other friends. I think Ginny Weasley and Pansy Parkinson are, given they were in the Shrieking Shack with them, but as I said … they really do keep to themselves. They honestly spend a lot of time in the library, studying and doing homework.”

Sirius downed the last of his tea. “At the end of the day, you could tell me they were budding Dark Lords and I wouldn’t really care. They’re our godchildren, it’s about time we start actually being godparents to them.”

“They only have one godfather, Pads,” Lupin said gently.

Sirius gave him a hard look. “Don’t give me that bullshit, Moony. Just because I’m the only one written down on the legal paper doesn’t make you any less their godfather. We’re all that’s left now, we’re the only Marauders. These are our kids … we owe it to James and Lily to be the godparents these kids deserve.”

“Do you mean it?” Remus said, his voice hoarse and tears now welling in his eyes. He furiously pushed them back, unwilling to cry, not after all these years of stoically refusing to do so.

Sirius leant into him, leant into the comfort of human contact for the first time in thirteen years. “You’ll always own a piece of my heart, Moony, and I need you now more than ever.” As Remus wrapped his arms back around him, both of them started sobbing, more than a decade of grief and loss and misery suddenly breaking through and pouring out. It was a long time before they let the other go.

-/-

Sirius left Remus asleep on the couch, scribbled a note, and promptly Apparated to a place he’d hoped never to return to – home. It would be the first stop on his mission – home, Gringotts, and then the Dursleys. He landed on a patch of unkempt grass in the front yard, the surrounding grimy houses unwelcoming, with broken windows and heaps of rubbish, the smell of rotting trash on the air. “As homey as ever,” Sirius muttered, looking up and watching as Number 12 emerged, then heading up the stairs to the black door. It had no keyhole or letterbox, just a silver doorknocker in the form of a twisted serpent. Pulling his wand out, he tapped on the door and breathed a sigh of relief when the tell-tale clicks started; he still had access to his ancestral home, his mother’s banishment hadn’t worked.

“Gods, don’t let there be anyone alive in here,” he whispered, and strode into the dark hallway. It certainly smelt as though there was no-one alive, the smell of damp and dust and a sweetish, rotting smell hitting his nose. He waved his wand again and the old-fashioned gas lamps sputtered into life, softly illuminating the threadbare carpet and the peeling wallpaper, cobwebs hanging from the ceiling, several insects scuttling away from the sudden light. He headed down the corridor towards the stairs and was just about to move further in to check out the old dining room, when sudden movement caught his eye.

He turned just as the curtains opened, and a portrait of a woman was revealed who immediately started screaming at the top of her lungs, her eyes bulging, and her hands outstretched like claws as she stared down at Sirius. “YOU!” she screeched. “Blood traitor, abomination, shame of my flesh! Filth and scum! How dare you step foot back in this house!”

Sirius snarled back at her, partially transforming his teeth in his rage. “I celebrated in Azkaban when you died, you fucking bitch!” he yelled. “But I’m back now, Mother, and I’m taking over this shithole of a House, and I’m going to do everything in my power to turn it into everything you fucking despise!”

“I should have drowned you at birth, you by-product of dirt and vileness!” Sirius’ mother screamed. “The shame I bought on the beloved house of my fathers when I gave birth to you.”

Sirius yanked the curtains closed again, breathing heavily, heart racing. The last time he’d seen his mother was when he’d been sixteen and was kicked out of home. He had hoped then he’d never see her again. First priority was definitely removing the portrait. A sudden POP had him turning again, wand outstretched, as a house-elf appeared. This is not my day, Sirius thought to himself, taking in the old shrivelled house-elf, bulbous snout-like nose, bat ears, and bloodshot eyes. Kreacher, the ugly twisted house-elf of the House of Black.

“So the blood-traitor brat has returned, oh my mistress” the elf mumbled. “Friend of Mudbloods and werewolves and traitors alike. Oh my poor mistress –“

“Your poor mistress was a hateful bitch, Kreacher,” Sirius spat, rage rising steadily in him.

“Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother’s heart –“

“My mother didn’t have a heart, Kreacher,” Sirius snapped. “She kept herself alive out of pure spite.”

Kreacher bowed as he spoke. “Whatever Master says,” he muttered furiously. “Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother’s boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was –“

“Shut up,” Sirius yelled, just as Kreacher’s words sunk in. Master. He grinned ferociously at the diminutive elf. “I’m all that’s left of this fucked up family now, Kreacher, I’m your Master.”

Kreacher stayed in the bow but kept muttering, “- comes back from Azkaban ordering Kreacher around, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw the scum, she swore he was no son of hers and he’s back, they say he’s a murderer too –“

“Oh, I am, Kreacher,” Sirius said happily, a mad light in his eyes. “And today’s your lucky day. I’m going to help you fulfil your lifelong dream of having your head mounted on the wall.” He slashed his wand, watching as blood spattered from the decapitated elf. “Just living up to the mad family standards.” Kicking the body aside, he strode into his ancestral home.


	4. It's Red!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... Sirius really did that!  
> Farewell Kreacher, ye shan't be missed. 
> 
> Next, the twins meet up with Sirius again as planned (expecting him to still be in hospital). 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >  
> Parseltongue is denoted by italics. 
> 
> Sound off below, am loving all your comments!!

Harry and Hermione pulled their hoods off as they stepped off the Knight Bus towards the visitors’ entrance of St Mungo’s Hospital, a mixture of nervousness and excitement making the bond hum loudly between them. They skirted through the people marching along the sidewalk and plunged through the glass into the reception area. They blinked in surprise at both Sirius and Remus standing there, Sirius dressed in proper wizarding robes. < I suppose they’re happy with him, > Hermione said. < He certainly looks ready to leave hospital … ooh, he’s coming towards us … do you think we should hug him? >

< That’s probably the normal thing to do, right, > Harry replied. Before either of them could make a decision, Sirius swept them into a hug, arms coming around both of them and holding them tightly. Harry nervously hugged him back, tugging on the bond to remind Hermione to do the same. < This is kinda nice, really, > he hummed. “Are you feeling better now?” he asked as they were released from the hug.

“Feeling like a new man,” Sirius replied. “In more ways than one. Shall we get going? Remus here has organised a private booth at the Leaky for lunch.”

“Sounds great,” Harry said.

-/-

The twins nervously picked at their chips, sensing something odd in the air. < They’re gonna give us bad news, > Hermione said. < I just know it. >

< Maybe they just don’t like the food, > Harry offered, dodging his sister’s kick under the table. < Yes, I’m aware how dumb that sounds. >

Sirius cleared his throat and looked at the pair of them. “Well, if you two would still like to come and live with me, shall we swing by the Dursleys and get all your stuff?”

Harry and Hermione both stilled at his words. “Umm … well,” Harry started, trying to think of something. “We already – we already packed all our stuff.”

Sirius looked around them. “I’m not seeing anything,” he said, raising his eyebrows.

“My sister may possibly be accomplished in the vaguely not legal Undetectable Extension Charms,” Harry said quietly, tilting his head. Hermione widened her eyes and smiled demurely, holding up the bag she took everywhere.

“That’s ok,” Sirius said. “I still wanna stop by the Dursleys though. Thank them for looking after you two for all these years, make sure you haven’t left anything behind, you know.” He leant forward, head resting in his hand, as he smiled at the twins.

Harry smiled weakly back at him. < Got any other excuses, Mi? > he said. < Better come up with them quickly. >

“They’re on holidays,” Hermione said quickly. “They left yesterday; we said all our goodbyes then.”

“Did you now?” Sirius said. “That’s **so** funny, because when I swung by yesterday, they were all there.” He grinned at his godchildren, showing all his teeth. “Do you know who wasn’t there?” Remus next to him put his head in his hands.

Hermione hissed at him, her eyes glowing. “Sure you were sorted in Gryffindor?” she challenged. “Because this smells very Slytherin.” < A fucking trap, > she said, impressed despite herself.

“Well, I am a Black,” Sirius said with a laugh. “In fact, I’m now Lord Black, and all my family going back generations are Slytherins – I had to argue with the Hat to put me in Gryffindor. Want to tell me where you’ve been living? And just how long you’ve been living there for?”

< Is this what having a parent is like? > Harry remarked.

< I kinda like it, > Hermione said. < At least we don’t have a fool for a guardian. I like a challenge. >

< It’s not a challenge, for fuck sake. I think it’s called parenting actually, > Harry said. “Well, we would love to tell you where we’ve been living …” he trailed off. < I suppose we don’t really have a choice, do we? But what if they tell Dumbledore and all them? >

< Doesn’t matter, > Hermione said. < Dumbledore can’t force us back to the Dursleys now, the Will clearly states that Sirius is meant to be our guardian. Also, I reckon once we tell him what we suspect that he’ll want nothing to do with Dumbledore. >

“We’ve been living at Potter Manor,” Harry finished. “If we’re being honest, we’ve been living there since we were eleven.”

“By yourselves?” Remus exclaimed.

“No, no,” Harry said quickly “Our pets live there too.”

“Why did I find you near the Dursleys around this time last year then?” Sirius asked, skipping past the pet comment with an eyeroll.

“Well, we had to go back there after you escaped, because we thought you wanted to kill us, and you had access to the Potter Manor wards,” Harry explained.

“Doesn’t explain why I found you on the street at night,” Sirius replied calmly.

Harry made a face. < He’s persistent, I’ll give him that, > he said. “We may have had a slight disagreement with Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon’s sister.”

< Fuck this, > Hermione said. < We’re just gonna have to be honest and stop with all this Slytherin skirting around. > “We blew up Aunt Marge, kind of accidentally, after she insulted our parents. This sent Uncle Vernon mad and he tried to shoot us with his gun. Don’t worry, I turned it into a flower. So we high-tailed it out of there, figuring we’d stay at the Leaky for a while. We’re good at looking after ourselves.”

A smile broke out on Sirius’ face as he listened to Hermione’s story. Harry realised nervously that it was the same dangerous smile he’d seen many times on his sister’s face. “Anyway, that’s all in the past now,” he said loudly. “So no need to visit the Dursleys ever again. We can just all move on with our lives. Where do you live?”

Sirius allowed them to steer the conversation onwards, but tucked away what they had said, fully intending on going to investigate the Dursleys again at some point.

-/-

< Well this is charming, > Hermione said, her lip curling in disgust at the grimy houses, the stink of rotting trash still on the air.

< We live in half a house, > Harry said, wrinkling his nose. < We get wet when it rains. Probably we shouldn’t be throwing stones. >

After Sirius told them the address, they watched in amazement as Number 12 squeezed itself out in between the other houses but stopped dead the moment they entered the house. < Wow, > Harry said, looking down the dark hallway, nervously eyeing what looked like a lot of dead house elf heads on the walls. < Maybe we can throw stones. >

“There are some strong interior decorating choices here,” Hermione joked. < I suppose grime covered dead house elves could be a decorating style. >

Suddenly, the curtains opened again, and high-pitched screaming started. Harry and Hermione stared in horror as the moth-eaten velvet curtains revealed an old woman in a black cap screaming like she was being tortured. The old woman was drooling, her eyes were rolling, the yellowing skin of her face stretched taut as she screamed, her hands curled into claws that scratched at the edges of the painting. < What the fuck? > Harry said.

“FILTH,” the woman screamed. “Scum, half-breeds, mutants, freaks! Begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers!” Her loud screams continued, the pitch like someone was taking a drill to their ears.

“There is nothing we could do to befoul this place anymore; it’s fucking filthy already, bitch,” Hermione yelled back at her, never passing up the opportunity to have a fight, the bond starting to roil angrily.

“You dare to speak to me in that tone?” the woman screamed back, her eyes bulging. “No doubt nothing but a worthless useless piece of scum just like the blood traitor shame of my flesh!”

< Ooh, this is fun, > Hermione said, bouncing on the balls of her feet and grinning savagely at the portrait. Kid grumpily poked her head out at the jumping and hissed at Hermione. _“We’re having a screaming match with this old hag, Kid,”_ Hermione said.

_“Would you fucking restrain yourself?”_ Harry hissed. _“Are you trying to get us thrown out?”_

“The only piece of scum I can see is the shrieking harpy in front of me,” Hermione snarled at the portrait. “Someone who screams like this could only be a Gryffindor.”

But the portrait had fallen silent, staring down at the twins in utter shock. Sirius startled at the silence, finally springing into action and seizing the curtains and forcing them closed. Panting slightly, he swept his long dark hair out of his eyes and turned to the twins. “Sorry about that,” he said grimly. “That’s my mother.”

“Your mother?” Harry exclaimed, wincing at how rude the question came out and flicking his eyes back and forth between the covered portrait and Sirius.

“I definitely won that fight,” Hermione said. “Anything else in this house want to have a go?”

“I’m so sorry about her,” Harry said sarcastically. < **What** are you doing? We’re trying to get this man to like us; not convince him we’re insane … oh gods, you are, aren’t you? You’re deliberately trying to sabotage. >

“Hey, anyone who wants to fight my mother is good by me, the spiteful bitch that she is,” Sirius said, reaching out to ruffle Hermione’s hair. “I’ve been trying to get her down but I’m pretty sure she put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the back of the canvas. Anyway, welcome to the ancestral home of the House of Black.”

“It’s lovely,” Harry said politely, only half listening. Both Sirius and Remus loudly snorted and gave him a look. < Mi Mi, listen to me. You don’t need to sabotage this, ok. Look at him, he’s as mental as you are. >

< Yeah, > Hermione said, something heating up the bond. < And what happens when he sides with Dumbledore? They were all on the same side in the last war. >

< You’re jumping to conclusions, > Harry argued. < Regardless, we can deal with that. Dumbledore is a necessary evil; Voldemort is just plain evil. We might not always agree with Dumbledore, but he’s not trying to actively murder us. >

< No, just passively, > Hermione snarled at her brother. < You always do this, you always side with whoever you need to. Where’s your backbone? >

< It’s called **surviving** , > Harry yelled, starting to get really angry, the bond straining between them, both now completely engrossed in their argument, forgetting they had witnesses. < We can’t always fight everything! The gods know you certainly try to though … but we need this! I need this … I want … >

< What? > Hermione snapped, going for the jugular. < Want a parent? Our parents are dead and they’re not **ever** coming back. > She wasn’t even sure why she was saying half the things coming out of her mouth, she felt like there was fire rippling underneath her skin, like insects were biting her and she just needed to pick and pick until they were both stripped bare.

Harry meanwhile saw red, gave in to the rage coiling through his veins, and jumped onto his sister and they tumbled down onto the filthy carpet, grappling each other, silent except for the occasional groan of pain, now just wordlessly screaming at each over the bond, which was flashing both red and green, ripping and roiling between the pair of them.

“What the fuck?” Sirius said, his jaw dropping as he watched the twins suddenly start fighting. He stared at Remus flabbergasted who looked equally unclear on what to do. After remaining frozen for several long moments as the twins continued to beat at each other, he waved his wand, separating the two of them. “What the **hell** is going on? What’s wrong with you two?”

Hermione snarled wordlessly at her brother and, unable to move, went to jab him through the bond, only to gasp when she looked at it. Harry, who’d had the same thought and was about to send a painful jolt through the bond, saw the same thing. “It’s RED!” they both exclaimed at the same time, staring at each other, eyes wide.

“What?” Sirius said, staring at them in utter confusion, Remus glancing around the house searching for what they were talking about. “What’s red?”


	5. Explanations and Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just what does red mean?
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> :) :)

Harry and Hermione continued to stare at each other as the seconds ticked by, before Harry carefully reached out through the bond, breathing a sigh of relief that he could slide through as normal. Hermione gazed at it closely, noting that the bond was still mostly green. As they calmed, the red threads slowly dissipated from the bond, seeming to seep out into the air and vanish. < Red, > Harry said slowly, tense as the bond continued to surge and pull between them.

< Red, red, red, > Hermione muttered, turning it over and over in her mind, feeling the answer on the tip of her tongue. < We’ve seen it before, I’m sure of it. >

< Not like that, > Harry replied. < We’ve seen red sparks before though. >

< When? > she asked urgently.

Harry briefly laughed. < In Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, remember? When we both touched the … > he trailed off, his eyes widening.

“The diary!” they shouted, causing Remus and Sirius to jump. “Oh, shit,” Harry said, and looked down at his hands, starting to panic. “But we’re not touching anything.”

“But it was different!” Hermione replied. “A thread, not a spark.” Harry closed his eyes, trying to let his senses spread out beyond him, focussing on the bond that continued to behave unusually. Slowly, slowly, as he continued to spread outwards, he felt it, the faintest tugging. Hermione watched with bated breath, waiting for him to open his eyes again, her mind running through all the possibilities.

“What is going on?” Sirius said, starting to become very uneasy. This was like nothing he’d ever seen before.

Harry opened his eyes. “I think I’ve got it,” he said, and both of them turned on their feet and raced up the dark stairs. After a pause, Sirius and Remus chased after them, pounding up the stairs, only to nearly bowl them over as the twins had stopped just past the top of the stairs, staring into the room ahead.

“Ok,” Remus said, putting on his Professor voice. “Things have taken **quite** a turn, so we are going to stop and we’re going to use our words.” He stared sternly at the twins. “What is going on?”

“No!” he barked as Harry and Hermione turned to look at each other. “Whatever you two do when you turn to look at each other …” The twins turned to look back at him, their eyes wide. “I promise you two are not in trouble, but right now, you’re honestly alarming us.”

They both carefully looked directly at Remus and Sirius. < We do need to get out of that habit, > Hermione muttered. < Like we don’t actually have to look at each other to talk, the bond doesn’t rely on that. >

< To be fair though, we don’t fully understand the bond, and the furthest apart we’ve been is like what … a hundred metres? > Harry replied. < Anyway, that’s a discussion for another time. What are we going to tell them? >

< Probably further … remember when I got stuck in the one-eyed witch and Snape dragged you off to the dungeons? > Hermione replied, still resolutely staring at Lupin. < Anyway, I guess we have to tell them the truth … especially if our suspicions are true. >

Harry sighed. “We should probably sit down, this might take a while,” he said. < It’s in that room, > he muttered, as Sirius led them back downstairs and into the dining room. It was as grimy and depressing as the rest of the place. < I’m sure of it. >

< Where are you gonna start? > Hermione said, as they gingerly sat down on the dirty furniture. < Like do we bother with first year? Just crash straight in with the diary? >

< Fuck it, > Harry said. < They can get the whole goddamn thing … hope they’ve got some snacks or something; this might take a while. > He cleared his throat and looked up at Sirius and Remus. “Strap in,” he said, “this will take some time …”

-/-

Sirius was reeling. In three years at Hogwarts, his godchildren had managed to be attacked by Voldemort multiple times, not to mention being attacked by Dementors, Acromantulas, and a Basilisk. And yet, somehow, those things managed to not be the most disturbing thing they’d told them. Lily had performed some Blood ritual and linked her children inextricably, and now they were some bizarre telepathic Parselmouth twins, who’d convinced most of the school they were the Heirs of Slytherins. He didn’t know whether to laugh or scream at what they’d done to Lucius Malfoy; partly because it likely meant he’d have to deal with the bastard sometime in the future. And now they were telling him how when they’d touched the Diary, that was somehow … “Sorry, you’re saying this Tom Riddle was what exactly?” he interrupted, trying to wrap his head around it. He was beginning to wonder if this was actually just some odd fever dream. Remus had started taking notes like they were in a goddamn class.

“A soul,” Harry said, like that explained anything. “It was Hermione who figured it out. Voldemort made this Soul Diary so he could re-open the Chamber of Secrets. But the important part of that is that when we both touched the diary, there were red sparks! Red!”

Sirius felt like he was back in Arithmancy lessons and not understanding a goddamn thing. “And red means …”

“Well, we don’t know for sure,” Harry explained, “but red isn’t us. We’re green.”

“And something red entered the bond when we came into the house,” Hermione said. “That’s why we … went a bit mad for a moment.” < I am sorry about that, Me Me, > she whispered.

< I’m sorry too, Mi Mi, > he replied, < but it wasn’t us. The argument barely even made sense. We’ll figure it out what it was. >

“So you think there’s another Soul Diary here?” Remus said, looking up from his notes.

Harry shrugged. “Our bond is reacting to something,” he said. “It reacts to a few things, but we’ve only seen red once before.”

“I must admit,” Sirius said, rubbing his jaw “that I thought this day was going to go very differently. I thought we’d have a nice lunch, I’d tell you I was now Lord Black so I can definitely be your legal guardian, we’d go shopping, and try to settle into a home … but you know, everything in its stride. Let’s go find a Soul Diary instead.”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each nervously, the bond drooping slightly. “We’re sorry?” Harry tried tentatively.

“Oh no,” Sirius rushed to say. “This is not a negative thing at all. I want to know all these things about you, I want to help you. I’m glad Remus and I are here for this … doesn’t seem like anyone has been looking out for you so far. You should never have been in a position to be attacked by Voldemort, or anything else for that matter. Something weird is affecting you two? Fine, let’s go solve the mystery.”

< I reckon he’d definitely buy me a fancy knife if I asked for one, > Hermione said, smiling up at her godfather.

< But we’re not going to do that, > Harry replied, a smile also on his face, < because we’re nice normal godchildren. > He pushed himself away from the table, trying to subtly brush the grime off him. “Shall we?” he said, heading out of the dining room and back towards the stairs.

-/-

The room in question turned out to be a drawing room. Harry and Hermione had blinked when Sirius had told them what it was, nodding as though they understood. It was a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. A writing desk rattled ominously in one corner. There was a mantelpiece on the other side of the room, with two dusty glass-fronted cabinets on either side.

Remus grabbed Harry as he made to step further into the room. “Wait,” he said. “Those are definitely Doxies over there – a proper infestation by the looks of it - and probably a Boggart in that cupboard. But who knows what else could be in this house? We don’t have any antidote here, and Doxies are poisonous.” Harry took several steps backwards. “This place needs a proper clean, Sirius, by experts.”

“You’re right as usual, Moony,” Sirius muttered. “I tried to clean it up a bit, mainly just the bedrooms … but this place has been filthy for a very long time, with no-one looking after it.” He turned to the twins. “I promise you we’ll solve this mystery … but only when it’s safe for you.”

Harry had a very warm feeling in his chest and wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He could feel Hermione almost twitching beside him, barely able to deal with someone trying to actively care for them. “Well, would you like to come to Potter Manor?” Harry asked. “No infestations there.”

< No roof either, > Hermione joked.

< We have half a roof, thank you very much, > Harry snarked. < And a house-elf … ooh! I wonder if Dobby would like to come here once there’s nothing poisonous. This mess sure looks like something a house-elf would enjoy. >

“You two are talking to each other now, aren’t you?” Sirius said, staring at them. “But I’d love to come to Potter Manor … gods, I haven’t seen it in such a long time.” His eyes took on a slightly haunted look before he shook his head firmly, and marched back down the stairs. “Come on then,” he said, in a forced cheery voice.


	6. Gravedirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loving all the comments and reactions so far.  
> I can't wait to keep unravelling the mystery. 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

After giving everyone a few days to settle into Potter Manor, the twins decided to broach the idea of visiting their old place in Godric’s Hollow. “You know,” Harry began over breakfast that morning, “while we’re waiting for Grimmauld Place to be inhabitable, there is something else we’ve been … kind of anxious to try and figure out.”

“I assume you’re not talking about an overdue essay,” Remus said dryly.

“We want to see if our mother left behind a ritual circle at the house in Godric’s Hollow,” Harry replied, forcing the words out quickly.

“We’d also love to become Animagi,” Hermione chipped in. “Just while we’re talking about things we want to figure out.”

“Ignore her,” Harry said. “… actually, maybe don’t. We do want to become Animagi … but that takes time. So, Godric’s Hollow?”

“Well, I know James would love to see you two become Animagi,” Sirius said. “I wonder if you’d be like two little deer.”

< I am not turning into a deer, > Hermione said. < No offence to our father, but I want a more useful animal. >

< No, you just want an animal with more teeth, > Harry replied.

“And we can take you to Godric’s Hollow,” Remus said. “It’s where your parents are buried. Have you ever visited their grave?”

-/-

They made their way along a little lane, small cottages lining the way, until the lane curved to the left, leading them straight to the heart of the village. There was a war memorial in the middle of the square, surrounded by several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows were glowing jewel bright across the square. Villagers were crisscrossing in front of them, snatches of laughter drifting along as the pub door opened and closed. With heavy hearts, they made their way towards the church, having decided to visit their parents’ grave for the first time.

As they passed the war memorial, all of them were stunned as it transformed. Instead of an obelisk covered in names, there was a statue of four people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby in each of their arms. Silently, the twins gazed up at their parents’ faces. Neither had imagined there would be a statue, and both were taken aback by the stone imagery of what could have been, what they looked like as a whole family.

Hermione backed away quickly, shaking her head. < It’s the Mirror all over again, > she said. < They’re gone; they’re gone and they’re not ever coming back. Come on, Me. > Turning his back, Harry marched across the square, following his sister towards the church. Neither realised that they’d left their guardians behind as they slipped through the gate at the entrance of the graveyard. Behind the church, row upon row of tombstones protruded, a blanket of pale blue flecked with dazzling red and gold lay across the grounds from the reflections of the stained-glass windows. Lost in their mind, they wandered deeper into the graveyard, stooping every now and then to peer at the words on old headstones.

Occasionally they recognised a surname that they knew at Hogwarts. Sometimes there were several generations of the same wizarding family represented in the graveyard. Deeper and deeper amongst the gravestones they went, slowly searching for their name, apprehension and anticipation making the bond twang between them. Finally, Hermione nudged Harry over the bond, having found what they were looking for. The headstone was made of white marble and was unadorned, the words engraved upon it standing out clearly.

_James Potter, born 27 March 1960, died 31 October 1981 Lily Potter, born 30 January 1960, died 31 October 1981 The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death._

“It’s from the Bible,” came Remus’ voice as he made his way towards them, a strained look on his face. Sirius was nowhere to be found. “Living after death, living beyond death … the undiscovered country that no traveller returns from, and all that.”

< They’re not living though, > Hermione said bitterly. < No amount of pretty words will change the fact that they are six feet under us, completely indifferent, unknowing, unbreathing, uncaring to the slings and arrows that we face. >

< They died for us, Mi Mi, > Harry said, feeling like something was choking him, pressing his chest inwards, filling up his throat, almost like he was six feet under with them, choking on the grave dirt.

< I wish they’d lived for us instead, > Hermione said in a hard voice.

< Come here, > Harry said, still feeling like he was choking. < It’s just me in here, you don’t always have to be strong, Mi heart, you don’t always have to be sharp angles and rough bits. >

Hermione shook her head viciously. < I’m sure that if Fate had let us walk down a different path, that I could do that, Me Me, but life hasn’t been that kind. If I let it all go, I’ll be gone, the world will rip us to shreds and no-one will shed a tear. > The bond was shaking dangerously, her teeth clenched. < If I let it all in, let myself feel all the pain and grief that our life has given us … I’m not strong like you, Me Me. There’s a war coming and if we’re not careful, we’ll be six feet under, rotting with our parents. > She sunk slowly to the ground, hands clawing at the grass desperately.

Harry knelt next to her and flung his arms around her, rocking them both back and forth. < You’re the strongest person I know, Mi heart, > he almost sobbed. < And I’m sorry that you have to be so strong, I’m sorry the world hasn’t been kind to us, I’d do anything to change it, but I can’t. But I’m here, Mi Mi, and I promise I’ll never leave you. I promise I’ll live for you. >

“This wasn’t the best idea,” Remus said heavily, his heart breaking at the twins collapsed on their parents’ grave, feeling hopelessly out of his depth. “Let me take you guys home, come on.”

< I will always live for you, Me Me, > Hermione said, shaking her head at Remus, refilling her spine with steel and standing up. “We’ve come this far. We need to see what we can find out.” She looked around slowly. “… where’s Sirius?”

Remus bit his lip, his face twisting slightly. “He got caught off guard by the statue,” he admitted. “Seeing the grave would have only fractured him further, I fear … he’s gone back to the house.”

“You can follow him if you need,” Hermione said. “We can always call our house-elf if we need to get out of here.”

Remus frowned down at them. “Are you mad?” he said. “Sirius would literally kill me if I let you two go into your old house alone, and he’d be right to do so.” Shaking his head in disbelief, he made his way back out of the graveyard.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, before quickly following him as he headed down a street leading out of the village in the opposite direction from which they had entered. Ahead, they could make out the point where the cottages ended and the lane turned into open country again, but it was the dark mass that stood at the very end of the row of houses that caught their attention.

Their old house. The Fidelius Charm must have died with their parents. The hedge had grown wild in the thirteen years since Hagrid had taken them from the rubble that lay scattered amongst the waist-high grass. Most of the cottage was still standing, though entirely covered in thick ivy, but the right side of the top floor had been blown apart; where the curse had backfired all those years ago. Harry and Hermione stood frozen at the gate, gazing up at the wreck of what must once have been a cottage just like those that flanked it.

Slowly, Harry extended his hand towards the thickly rusted gate. The moment he touched it, a sign rose out of the ground in front of them, up through the tangles of nettles and weeds, like some bizarre, fast-growing flower, and in golden letters upon the wood it said:

_On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their children, Harry and Hermione, remain the only people ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family._

All around the neatly lettered words were scribbles that had been added by other witches and wizards who had come over the years to see the place where the Twins-Who-Lived had escaped. Some had merely signed their names in Everlasting Ink while others had carved their initials into the wood while others still had left various messages.

< They turned our old house into some weird fucked up shrine, > Harry breathed, looking at all the different messages. < People really come here … to see where our parents were murdered, to see where we survived … like it’s some **fucking** tourist destination. >

< Fuck this, > Hermione said in disgust, going to push the gate open, fully intending on kicking the sign down before going into the house, but the gate didn’t budge. Looking down in confusion, she pushed again, but still nothing. < What the hell? >

Harry joined her in pushing but the gate wouldn’t budge. “Why won’t it open?” he said, turning around to Remus.

“There must be wards,” Remus said slowly, scanning the grounds, “to stop people entering the house … we should have thought of that, I’m sorry. We’ll have to try to petition the Ministry or something to give you two access.” Snarling, Hermione kicked out at the gate angrily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remus and Hermione both reference Hamlet and his famous 'to be or not to be' speech (the undiscovered country and the slings and arrows bit)


	7. Into the Drawing Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What will they find in the drawing room?
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

While Harry and Hermione started the meditative process that was the start of becoming an Animagi, a team of experts, Sirius, Remus, and Dobby were tearing through Grimmauld Place, fighting against the place until it was fit for humans to live in. Dobby had the time of his life throughout the whole thing, popping back and forth between Potter Manor and Grimmauld Place. The magic at both places was growing even stronger, and he was very pleased he was part of such a magically strong family. The scars from his previous home had all gone as he flourished in such a rich environment. Finally, there was only the drawing room left. Given the nature of what was possibly in that room, Sirius hadn’t let anyone else in until the rest of the house was safe. Now, stocked up with Doxycide and antidote, Sirius brought the twins back with him so they could tackle the drawing room together.

Neither twin could believe it was the same place that Sirius had brought them back to; all the dirt and grime had been vanished, the interior design had been completely stripped and redone in lighter, warmer colours, and there was a pleasant smell on the air. The only sign that it was the same place were the curtains that hid the portrait of Walburga Black. Unable to remove it, Sirius had put a Permanent Sticking Charm on the curtains, permanently obscuring his cursed dragon of a mother.

Sirius, Remus, Harry, Hermione, and Dobby stood at the entrance of the drawing room, looking hesitantly at the last room. Finally, Remus squared his shoulders and stepped forward, brandishing a spray bottle filled with black liquid. “This is Doxycide,” he indicated to the twins, as Sirius helped them cover their faces with a cloth. “People often mistakenly think Doxies are fairies, but they’re their own species. Note the coarse black hair and the additional set of arms and legs. They’re highly venomous, so if you get bitten, tell us immediately so we can give you the antidote. There’ll be lots of eggs, but they’re not harmful to touch. We’ll need to start spraying all at once.” The twins felt like they were back in Defence lessons, Remus’ soothing Professor voice washing over them. “They’ll fly out and start to attack the moment we start spraying, but one spray of Doxycide will paralyse them. All make sense? Everyone ready?” Everyone stepped forward, spray bottles held out, and together, started spraying furiously.

They’d only been spraying for a few seconds when the Doxies soared out of the fold, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared with their shiny beetle-like wings whirring. Both Harry and Hermione had a lot of fun blasting the Doxies, watching them freeze in mid-air and fall to the ground with a loud thunk. There turned out to be thousands of Doxies infesting the curtain and it took most of the morning to kill them all. Once they were done, Sirius collected them all into a bucket and set it alight, while Dobby quickly cleaned the rest of the room so that the carpet no longer puffed out dust every time someone moved.

Everyone, sweaty and dirty from the effort, now stared nervously at the two glass-fronted cabinets standing on either side of the mantelpiece. They were crammed with an odd assortment of objects: a selection of rusty daggers, claws, a coiled snakeskin, a number of tarnishes silver boxes inscribed with old languages, and what looked to be an ornate crystal bottle with a large opal set into the stopper, full of what certainly looked like blood. Harry closed his eyes, trying to let his senses spread through the room until slowly, slowly he felt the same soft tugging from before. “It’s definitely in here,” he said.

“Alright then,” Sirius said, waving his wand so the two cabinets opened. “You two stay back; plenty of the stuff in here is cursed.” Hermione went to argue but Sirius immediately sustained a bad bite on his hand from a silver snuffbox and within seconds had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove, and Hermione kept her mouth shut.

“It’s OK,” Sirius said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring the skin to normal, “must be Wartcap powder in there.” He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets. Remus, meanwhile, had found an unpleasant looking silver instrument which scuttled up his arm like a spider when he picked it up, attempting to puncture his skin. Sirius smashed it with a heavy book entitled _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_ , nearly knocking Remus to the ground in the process. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy, until Harry had the sense to slam the lid shut. They got waylaid as Remus and Hermione had a long argument with Sirius who went to throw out a number of ancient scrolls. In the end, Hermione had thrown herself onto the scrolls in desperation, Remus shielding her while Sirius rolled his eyes at their antics, called them a bunch of Ravenclaws, and gave up.

There were only a few things left in the cabinets when Harry spotted it, knowing immediately it was what they were searching for. Hermione stilled, picking up Harry’s nerves over the bond, eyes tracking his and landing on a large, golden locket. They stepped towards it, examining it nervously. It was as large as a chicken’s egg with an ornate letter S on the front, inlaid with many small green stones that glinted in the light. < Do you realise what this is? > Hermione whispered, gazing down at the necklace.

< Our Lord Slytherin’s locket, > Harry replied in hushed tones. < What the fuck is it doing here? > He leant forward and extended his hand to pick it up, only to be tackled by Sirius before he could.

“Are you mad?” Sirius exclaimed. “It could have any number of curses on it.” He marched Harry back to the doorway then turned and did the same to Hermione before she could pick it up either. “Remus,” he said, nodding at the other man, who promptly waved his wand and started examining the locket, while Sirius dug a small chest out of his bag and opened it. “Lined with salt and lead,” he said, catching Hermione’s questioning look. “A safe place to put it in the meantime, until we figure out exactly what it is …” He looked at Harry. “Are you sure it’s what you’re looking for?”

“We’re pretty sure,” Harry replied, “but we’ll need to touch it to be certain.” Sirius sighed but nodded his agreeance.

After several minutes, Remus indicated it was safe and brought it over and Harry and Hermione stared at it reverently, tracing the serpentine S that looked like a minuscule snake curled up. As one, they reached out to put their hands on the locket, and immediately the bond lit up brightly, throwing off red sparks and thrashing wildly between them. Harry paused, trying to ignore the bond, and squeezed their hands around the locket tighter. After a moment or two, he caught it. At first, he thought it was his own blood pulsing in his veins, but no; it was as if there was a tiny metal heart beating away inside the locket. With great difficulty, they dropped the locket into the chest and Remus slammed the lid shut. The bond immediately calmed down, now only green again.

“Well, it doesn’t look like a diary,” Sirius said, pushing his hair out of his face, smearing dirt across his face in the process.

“I don’t know what it is,” Harry said. “But it’s definitely something, and it’s definitely what our bond reacted to the moment we stepped foot in this house.” He turned to look at Hermione, sensing her attention had been drawn elsewhere. < What is it? > he asked.

“Sirius, is this your whole family?” Hermione asked, gazing at a tapestry in the corner of the room. It looked immensely old; it was faded and looked as though Doxies had gnawed it in places, but the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show a sprawling family tree dating back to the Middle Ages. Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black: ‘Toujours Pur’.

“Unfortunately,” Sirius said, joining them and looking down at the tapestry in disgust. “I used to be there,” he said, pointing at a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry. “My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home … went to live with your father, actually, until I got my own place when I turned seventeen.”

“Why did you leave?” Harry asked.

“Because I hated the whole lot of them: my parents, with their Pureblood mania, convinced that to be a Black made you practically royal … my idiot brother, soft enough to believe them … that’s him,” he said, jabbing his finger at the very bottom of the tree, at the name ‘Regulus Black’. A date of death (some fifteen years previously) followed the date of birth. “He was younger than me, and as I was constantly reminded, a much better son.”

“But he’s dead,” Harry said.

“Yeah, well, he was a fucking idiot and joined the Death Eaters,” Sirius snarled.

“What?” Hermione exclaimed.

“You’ve seen this house … you’ve met my mother – that portrait is a very accurate reflection of her. My whole family thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race, getting rid of Muggleborns and having Purebloods in charge. They weren’t alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he had the right idea about things … they got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get power, though. But I know my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up at first ... fucking stupid idiot. From what I found out after he died ... he got in so far and then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don’t just hand in your resignation to Voldemort. The Mark means a lifetime of service … or death.” Sirius scrubbed at his face. “I haven’t looked at this for years. There’s Phineas Nigellus … my great-great-grandfather, see? … least popular Headmaster Hogwarts ever had … and Araminta Meliflua … cousin of my mother’s … tried to force through a Ministry Bill to make Mugglehunting legal … and dear Aunt Elladora … she started the family tradition of beheading house-elves when they got too old to carry tea trays … of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent they were disowned. There’s my favourite cousin Andromeda … she married a Muggleborn, so –“ Sirius mimed blasting the tapestry with a wand and laughed sourly.

“You’re related to the Malfoys,” Harry said, examining the tapestry further.

“The pure-blood families are all interrelated,” said Sirius. “If you’re only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods your choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. So, dear Narcissa married Lucius Malfoy. Ugh, there’s Bellatrix. She married one of the Lestrange brothers … they’re all in Azkaban. Gods, this fucking family.” He shook his head in disgust again.

“It’s not all bad,” Hermione said softly. “There’s you … and our grandmother was a Black.”

“Sorry,” Sirius mumbled, looking at her with sad eyes. “I just never thought I’d be back in this house again.”

“You don’t have to be,” Hermione said. “Just live at Potter Manor. You shouldn’t have to live somewhere you don’t like. We’d never want to go back to Privet Drive, that’s for sure.”

“I’m Lord Black now,” Sirius muttered. “You’re supposed to occupy your land as Lord, according to the Wizengamot … and I’ll be joining the Wizengamot, the pack of wolves and snakes that it is … you two need someone with power, both magical and political behind you. And this house is another safe place for you as well. My father put every security measure known to wizardkind on it when he lived here.”

“You didn’t have to do all that for us,” Harry said softly. < What if he comes to resent us for it all? >

“I did, and I wanted to,” Sirius said firmly. “My fucking parents were right about one thing … being a Black has always wielded a lot of power. I’m going to make sure it’s wielded correctly for once. I don’t want you two to worry about it, I want you to try and be kids.” He smiled at the twins briefly. “Which reminds me … I’ve got tickets to the Quidditch World Cup!”


	8. Dark Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >  
> Parseltongue is denoted by italics

Harry and Hermione found themselves in an unfamiliar house, dust thick on the floor, windows covered in grime. It happened not infrequently, one would slide into the other’s mind while asleep, and they’d share a dreamscape. They looked up and watched as an old man, who they somehow knew was called Frank, slowly climbed the stairs and followed silently after him as he paused before a slightly ajar door, flickering light shining through the gap.

“There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry,” came a timid and fearful man’s voice.

“Later,” said a second voice. This, too, belonged to a man – but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. “Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail.” Frank peered through the gap, catching a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. “Where is Nagini?” came the cold voice.

“I – I don’t know, my Lord,” Wormtail replied nervously. “She set out to explore the house, I think …”

“You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail,” said the second voice. “I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly.”

“My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?”

“A week,” said the cold voice. “Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over.”

“The – the Quidditch World Cup, my Lord?” said Wormtail. “Forgive me, but – I do not understand – why should we wait until the World Cup is over?”

“Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait.”

“Your Lordship is still determined, then?” Wormtail said quietly.

“Certainly I am determined, Wormtail.” There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.

A slight pause followed – and then Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve. “It could be done without the Potter twins, my Lord.”

Another pause, more protracted, and then – “Without them?” breathed the second voice softly. “I see …”

“My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for them!” Wormtail said, his voice rising squeakily. “They are nothing to me, nothing at all! It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard – any wizard – the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while – you know that I can disguise myself most effectively – I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person –“

“I could use another wizard,” said the second voice softly, “that is true …”

“My Lord, it makes sense,” Wormtail said, sounding thoroughly relieved now, “laying hands on the Potter twins would be so difficult, they are so well protected –“

“And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder … perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?”

“My Lord! I – I have no wish to leave you, none at all –“

“Do not lie to me!” hissed the second voice. “I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me …”

“No! My devotion to your Lordship –“

“Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?”

“But you seem so much stronger, my Lord –“

“Liar,” breathed the second voice. “I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!”

Wormtail, who has been spluttering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. Then the second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.

“I have my reasons for using the twins, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding them, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail – courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldemort’s wrath –“

“My Lord, I must speak!” Wormtail said, panic in his voice now. “All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head – my Lord, Bertha Jorkins’s disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I curse –“

“If?” whispered the second voice. “If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has disappeared. You will do it quietly, and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition … come, Wormtail, one more obstacle removed and our path to the Potter twins is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us –“

“I am a faithful servant,” Wormtail said, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice.

“Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement.”

“I found you,” Wormtail said, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. “I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins.”

“That is true,” the second man said, sounding amused. “A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail – though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?”

“I – I thought she might be useful, my Lord –“

“Liar,” said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. “However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform …”

“R-really, my Lord? What –?” Wormtail sounded terrified again.

“Ah, Wormtail, you don’t want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end … but I promise you, you will have the honour of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins.”

“You … you …” Wormtail’s voice sounded suddenly hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. “You … are going … to kill me, too?”

“Wormtail, Wormtail,” said the cold voice silkily, “why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news of where she’d seen you … what with half the Ministry looking for you.”

Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh – an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech.

“We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail,” the cold man said. “One more curse … my faithful servant at Hogwarts … the Potter twins are as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet … I think I hear Nagini … _come here, my love, come back to Lord Voldemort. Tell me what you found in the house.”_

Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look behind him, and found himself paralysed with fright. Something was slithering towards him along the dark corridor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realised with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared at it as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer. He remained frozen and the snake passed him and, in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.

_“A man is at the door, Master,”_ Nagini hissed, _“he stinks of fear.”_

“Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail,” the second voice said.

“In-indeed, my Lord?” Wormtail said.

“Indeed, yes,” said the voice. “According the Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say.”

There were quick footsteps, and then the door of the room was flung wide open. A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm on his face.

“Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?” The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn’t see the speaker. The snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth-rug, staring at him. Frank was dragged inside by the man. “You heard everything, Muggle?” said the cold voice.

“What’s that you’re calling me?” Frank said defiantly.

“I am calling you a Muggle,” said the voice coolly. “It means that you are not a wizard.”

“I don’t know what you mean by wizard,” Frank said, his voice growing steadier. “All I know is I’ve heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You’ve done murder and you’re planning more! And I’ll tell you this too, my wife knows I’m up here, and if I don’t come back –“

“You have no wife,” the cold voice said, very quietly. “Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows … he always knows …”

“Is that right?” Frank said roughly. “Lord, is it? Well, I don’t think much of your manners, my Lord. Turn around and face me like a man, why don’t you?”

“But I am not a man, Muggle,” said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. “I am much, much more than a man. However … why not? I will face you … Wormtail, come turn my chair around.” The servant gave a whimper and the man hissed. “You heard me, Wormtail.”

Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master and the hearth-rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forwards and began to turn the chair. And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke, as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.

Three hundred miles away, Harry and Hermione woke screaming, their eyes glowing a brighter green than normal. 


	9. Secrets Seen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, poor Sirius and Remus. They're trying their best. 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

They jerked out of bed, breathing hard as though they’d been running, sweat pouring off them. Harry pressed his hand to his forehead, finding the scar on his head burning like someone had just pressed a white-hot wire to his skin. A sudden movement had Hermione shrieking, but it was just Padfoot running into the room. Remus followed a few moments later panting. Harry ran his fingers over his scar again; it was still painful. Hermione, her scar also hurting, furiously combed his hair out of the way to look at it but it looked normal.

“What?” Sirius said frantically, shifting back to his human self. “What is it?”

Harry and Hermione frowned as they tried to recall what they’d been dreaming about, before talking together, “Voldemort and Pettigrew … together; a snake …” they trailed off, trying to concentrate harder on what they’d seen. They reached out, putting their hands around the others face, eyes closed as they slipped into one mind again. “After the Quidditch World Cup … they just killed the old man … faithful servant.” They kept trying to hold onto the picture of the dimly lit room, tried to remember what they’d seen when the chair had turned around, but it was like trying to keep water in cupped hands, the details trickling away as fast as they tried to hold onto them. They straightened up to look at Remus and Sirius, one last thought burnt into their mind. “The path to the Potter twins will be clear.”

“What?” Sirius said, his still half-asleep mind trying desperately to catch up. “Is this … did you have … a vision?”

The twins were too busy discussing in their heads to notice. < Our scars are hurting, > Harry said frantically.

< He can’t be near, > Hermione said. < Every other time, he’s had to be like really close. We saw, he’s off in that house, wherever that is. >

< He’s back though, > Harry said. < I don’t know what he looks like, but he can talk, he can sit up … he must have a body if he can kill. >

< Fucking Wormtail, > Hermione seethed. < The faithful servant chained and broken free. He moves fucking fast; I can’t believe he’s already done all that. >

< Do we definitely think what we saw is real then? > Harry said nervously. Hermione fixed him with a flat stare. < Well, excuse me for hoping that maybe we just had an overactive imagination. >

“Hello?” Sirius said, waving his hands. “What are you two talking about?”

“Maybe we could discuss this over breakfast,” Remus said tiredly. “Come on everyone, family discussion and coffee.” They all trooped downstairs, the twins still furiously trying to remember anything else from their dream.

“Is this … did you See something?” Sirius said.

Harry frowned, catching the emphasis. “What do you mean, see?”

“You know, your Seer powers,” Sirius replied.

“What?” both twins exclaimed. “We don’t have Seer powers.”

“Wha – umm … but,” Sirius looked at Remus desperately. “You said they had Seer powers,” he accused.

“No, I said people think they have Seer powers,” Remus replied.

“Do they?” the twins said together. < I bet that’s coming from fucking Draco, > Harry said.

< Hang on though, > Hermione said. < Ignoring where the rumours come from … we’ve never had a dream like this before. How do we know it’s not some prophetic dream? >

Harry paused at that, vague horror coiling through him. < No fucking way, > he protested. < There’s no way we’re Seers on top of everything else … no, no. > He trailed off, trying to think of an argument. < No, our scars hurt. That has only happened when Voldemort has been involved … when he attacked us in the Forest and when we attacked Quirrell, and what not. Remember Dumbledore thought there was something around us speaking Parseltongue and our scars and Voldemort passing powers onto us. >

< I honestly hate that idea more than us maybe being Seers, > Hermione said, < but you’re probably right … still, it’d be useful if people thought we had some Seer like powers. Easy to manipulate people with it … similar to how we did with the whole Heirs of Slytherin thing. >

“Out loud, please,” Sirius reminded them, taking a large gulp of his coffee.

“We don’t know if we’re Seers,” Harry replied, deciding to leave it an open possibility, “but we’ve just Seen Voldemort and Wormtail. They’re planning something for after the World Cup, something involving us.”

“I can’t believe that the prophecy is already halfway true,” Hermione muttered.

There was a loud spluttering noise as Sirius accidentally inhaled half his coffee. Remus pounded him on the back several times, looking at the twins. “What prophecy?”

“Oh fuck, right, we didn’t tell you that bit,” Harry said. < Whoops! >

Now able to breathe, Sirius glared at them. “A fucking prophecy?”

“It’s not like we were keeping it a secret, we just forgot we hadn’t told you,” Harry explained. “The Divination Professor collapsed up on the Astronomy tower last year and went all funny and … well, told us a prophecy. It started, ‘the time is upon you as the light of the Sun fades in day and shines by night …”

Both Sirius and Remus lost all colour as Harry recited the prophecy. “Greater and more terrible?” Remus whispered. “Who did you tell about this?”

< They probably don’t want the answer to be ‘our snakes’, do they? > Hermione said.

“Well …” Harry said.

“Oh my gods, you didn’t tell anyone, did you?” Remus said.

“In our defence, who were we supposed to tell?” Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. “It sounds completely insane.”

“We’re going to need help on this,” Sirius said, a look of consternation on his face. “We’re out of our depths … we used to be part of an organisation called the Order of the Phoenix.”

< And let me guess, > Hermione said sourly. < Said organisation was run by Dumbledore. >

< It’s not a hard guess. If they’re going for covert, they’re not doing a good job. Who else owns a phoenix? > Harry said. “You want to involve Dumbledore?”

“He was the one leading the fight against Voldemort last time,” Remus said.

“Well, he did a shitty job,” Harry said. “Are you aware that he’s the one ultimately responsible for Sirius going to Azkaban without a trial? You say you were part of his organisation?” Harry scoffed derisively. “He mightn’t be evil, but he is not all good either. He left us to rot at the Dursleys, tried to force us to go back there, tried to stop us from living with you, made sure you were locked up in Azkaban. We don’t like him, and we certainly do not trust him.”

“To rot?” Sirius asked calmly, an odd light entering his eyes.

< Ah, > Harry said, gulping. < We left out the cupboard stuff, didn’t we? >

< I’m not opening my mouth, > Hermione said, promptly shovelling pancakes into said mouth.

“Rot’s a strong word,” Harry tried, pausing at the look on Sirius’ face. “We might have grown up in a cupboard?”

“I’ll kill her,” Sirius said, smiling with all his teeth at the twins. “I’m going to fucking kill the whole fucking family. And you’re saying Dumbledore knew?”

“Well, Hagrid told us that our parents’ Will said we had to go to the Dursleys, and that Dumbledore kept tabs on us over the years,” Harry said quietly, feeling more and more uncomfortable.

Remus put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder as he started growling and gave him a hard look. “You’re not helping at the moment, Pads,” he said. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at the twins. “I’m sorry that happened to you, that we weren’t there for you. We won’t go to Dumbledore, alright. Not unless we absolutely have to. But we’re going to have to involve some people … this war is bigger than all of us, and if Voldemort is truly going to return more terrible than before, then there are a lot of lives at stake … but that’s what we’re here for … we’re the adults here. I can’t even begin to imagine, but it must be hard for you two to trust anyone. Thank you, for telling us about the prophecy.”

“It’s alright,” Harry mumbled, averting his eyes.

< Gods, > Hermione said. < He hasn’t heard of repression, has he? That’s a lot of validation and eye contact. >

Before anyone else could say anything, Dobby trotted back into the dining room. “Yours Hogwarts letters is arriving,” he chirped, brandishing two letters.

“New textbooks!” Hermione said, her eyes lighting up. < Thank you, Dobby, you amazing house-elf, who always knows exactly when to interrupt. >

< It genuinely must be part of his powers, > Harry said. < He’s really good at it … what the fuck are dress robes? >


	10. Quidditch World Cup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're off to the World Cup
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

< This is too many red heads for me, > Hermione grumbled, staring around the kitchen. The news that they were going to the Quidditch World Cup had been vaguely soured by the fact that they’d gotten tickets along with the Weasleys – some favour from someone - and that Molly Weasley had demanded they come over for dinner as she had yet to follow up on her promise to have them over after the events of second year. The only reason Hermione hadn’t put up more of a bitch about it was that Sirius and Remus had taken them shopping for their birthday and she had indeed been given a very fancy knife. < Sometimes the best thanks someone can give is to leave us alone. >

< Relax, would you? > Harry muttered. < We like Fred and George and Ginny. I’m sure we can tolerate everyone else for a day … just think, the Quidditch World Cup! > Harry was over the moon about getting tickets and couldn’t wait to see what Quidditch was like on the international stage.

< Ugh, I had to get a jock for a brother, > Hermione said, smiling silently as they were introduced to everyone again. The only two new ones were Bill and Charlie, the two eldest Weasley brothers. Charlie, it turned out, worked in Romania with dragons, while Bill was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts and worked mostly in Egypt. Hermione, against her will, was impressed by the older brothers. Bill especially seemed quite cool, with his long hair tied back in a ponytail, his fang earring, and his dragon hide leather jacket and boots.

Harry, meanwhile, was staring around interestedly at the house. The outside looked as though it had once been a large stone pigsty, but extra rooms had been added here and there until it was several storeys high and crooked. The kitchen was small and rather cramped with a scrubbed wooden table and chairs in the middle. The clock on the wall opposite him had only one hand and no numbers at all. Written around the edge were things like ‘Time to make tea’, ‘You’re late’, and interestingly, ‘Mortal peril’. Books were stacked three deep on the mantelpiece, books with titles like _Charm Your Own Cheese_ , _Enchantment in Baking_ and _One Minute Feasts – It’s Magic!_

By seven o’clock, the two tables were groaning under dishes and dishes of Mrs Weasley’s excellent cooking, and the nine Weasleys, Sirius, Harry, and Hermione were settling themselves down to eat beneath a clear, deep-blue sky. To avoid having to talk much, the twins helped themselves to large amounts of the chicken-and-ham pie, boiled potatoes and salad, and tucked in, content to just eavesdrop on everyone else while eating their dinner.

At the far end of the table, Percy was telling his father all about his report on cauldron bottoms. “I’ve told Mr Crouch that I’ll have it ready by Tuesday,” he was saying pompously. “That’s a bit sooner than he expected it, but I like to keep on top of things. I think he’ll be grateful I’ve done it in good time. I mean, it’s extremely busy in our department just now, what with all the arrangements for the World Cup. We’re just not getting the support we need from the Department of Magical Games and Sports. Ludo Bagman –“

“I like Ludo,” Mr Weasley said mildly. “He was the one who got us such good tickets for the Cup.”

“Oh, Bagman’s likeable enough, of course,” Percy said dismissively, “but how he ever got to be Head of Department … when I compare him to Mr Crouch! I can’t see Mr Crouch losing a member of our department and not trying to find out what’s happened to them. You realise Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back?”

“Yes, I was asking Ludo about that,” Mr Weasley said, frowning. “He says Bertha’s got lost plenty of times before now – though I must say, if it was someone in my department, I’d be worried …”

“Oh, Bertha’s hopeless, all right,” Percy said. “I hear she’s been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she’s worth … but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr Crouch has been taking a personal interest – she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr Crouch was quite fond of her – but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However,” Percy heaved an impressive sigh, and took a deep swig of elderflower wine, “we’ve got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Co-operation without trying to find members of other departments too. As you know, we’ve got another big event to organise right after the World Cup.” He cleared his throat significantly and looked down the rest of the table. “You know the one I’m talking about, Father. The top-secret one.”

But Harry and Hermione had stopped listening; the bond had yanked between them and they were now quietly arguing. < We know that name, > Hermione said, trying to chase it through her mind. < I’m sure of it. >

< I don’t think we do, > Harry replied. < But Albania! Remember – that’s where Dumbledore said Voldemort was hiding out. >

Hermione scrunched her face up, trying to get it to all add up in her mind. < So someone goes missing where Voldemort was last seen, > she said. < I mean, it probably means something, but I don’t know what. I’m sure we’ve heard her name before though. >

They were interrupted by Mrs Weasley standing up, looking at her wristwatch. “You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you, you’ll be up at the crack of dawn to get to the Cup.”

-/-

They felt as though they’d barely lain down to sleep before they were being shaken awake by Sirius. “Come on,” he whispered. “It’s time to go.”

< Fucking Quidditch and it’s never ending campaign against me sleeping in, > Hermione grumbled, trying to shove a jumper over her bed hair.

Mrs Weasley was stirring the contents of a large pot on the stove, while Mr Weasley was sitting at the table, checking a sheaf of large parchment tickets. He looked up as everyone entered and spread his arms so that they could see his clothes more clearly. He was wearing what appeared to be a golfing jumper and a very old pair of jeans, slightly too big for him and help up with a thick leather belt. “What d’you think?” he asked anxiously. “We’re supposed to go incognito – do I look like a Muggle?”

“Oh yeah,” Harry said, ignoring Hermione laughing loudly over the bond. “Spot on!” They were both pleased that Sirius was dressed well, in his dragon hide leather jacket and black pants.

It was chilly and the moon was still out as they set out across the field. Only a dull, greenish tinge along the horizon to their right showed that daybreak was drawing closer. Mr Weasley explained how they were going to get there, describing Portkeys, and pointing ahead of them, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St Catchpole. They trudged down the dark, dank lane towards the village, the silence broken only by their footsteps. The sky lightened very slowly as they made their way through the village, its inky blackness diluting to deepest blue. Hermione’s tirade had devolved into her muttering the odd swear word, both her hands and feet now freezing. Sirius had handed his small bag to Hermione and had switched into Padfoot. He now loped alongside them gracefully, making them both wish they were Animagi already.

“Whew,” Mr Weasley panted, as they came over the crest of the hill. “We’ve made good time; we just need the Portkey now.”

“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!” came a voice through the still air. Two tall figures were silhouetted against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

“Amos!” Mr Weasley said, smiling as he strode over to the man who had shouted. The rest of them followed over to find a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard, who was holding a mouldy-looking old boot in his other hand. “This is Amos Diggory, everyone. Works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric?”

“Hi,” Cedric said, looking around at them all.

“Merlin’s beard,” Amos Diggory said suddenly, his eyes widening. “Harry and Hermione Potter?”

“Er – yeah,” Harry said, trying not to look unhappy at the attention. Hermione had already groaned loudly over the bond.

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” Amos Diggory said. “Told us all about playing against you last year … I said to him, I said – Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will … you beat Harry Potter.”

Harry stared at the other man, unable to think of a single thing to say to that. Hermione, on the other hand, had thought of several things to say but none of them were appropriate for polite company. She was pleased that Fred and George were giving pointed looks at Amos Diggory on their behalf.

“Harry fell of his broom, Dad,” Cedric muttered, looking embarrassed. “I told you … it was an accident …”

“Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman … but the best man won, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!”

< Let me kill him, > Hermione said flatly, as Sirius shifted back to glare at Amos.

“How many Quidditch Cups has Hufflepuff won?” Ginny asked, her eyes wide and an innocent smile pasted on her face.

“Gods, look at the time,” Mr Weasley shouted loudly before the situation could escalate any further. “Come on, everyone put their hand on the boot.”

The ten of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. They all stood there, in a tight circle, as a chill breeze swept over the hilltop. “Three …” muttered Mr Weasley, one eye still on his watch, “two … one …”

It happened immediately; the twins felt as though a hook just behind their navel had suddenly been jerked irresistibly forwards. Their feet left the ground and they were all speeding forwards in a howl of wind and swirling colour; their hands stuck to the boot as though it was pulling them magnetically onwards and then -

Harry’s feet slammed into the ground. Hermione staggered into him and they both crashed to the ground and rolled partways down the hill. < What a fucking awful way to travel, > Hermione was moaning, trying to hold herself back from spewing everywhere.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,” came a voice.

Sirius helped them both to their feet and they looked around. They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them were a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. < What the fuck are they wearing? > Hermione said, staring open-mouthed at the pair. One was wearing a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes while the other had both a kilt and a poncho on.

< You know, Pansy really did have a point when she said the Muggle world is a danger to us, > Harry said, reaching over to close her jaw. < This world is run by complete idiots who clearly don’t understand the Muggle world at all, and I can tell that purely based off their outfit. You can’t protect yourself from what you don’t understand. >

< If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles, > Hermione said. < Sun Tzu, > she replied to Harry’s question mark. < The Art of War … you know, we should probably re-read it. Not even for Pansy’s problem, but for what’s coming. Everyone says there’ll be another Blood War. >

< Half the prophecy has already come true, > Harry said dully. < It’s really only a matter of time before the second half comes true, and he rises ‘greater and more terrible than before’. >

Hermione sighed. < Come on, Me. Let’s enjoy this stupid sports match for now. We can worry about that other stuff later. >

They all set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out much through the mist. They entertained themselves chatting quietly with the Weasley twins about their summer escapades. After about twenty minutes, a small stone cottage next to a gate swam into view. Beyond it, they could just make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. They parted ways with the Diggorys and approached the cottage door. A man was standing in the doorway, looking out at the tents. The twins knew at a glance that this was the only real Muggle for several acres. When he heard their footsteps, he turned his head to look at them.

“Morning!” Mr Weasley said brightly. Sirius grunted at the man.

“Morning,” said the Muggle.

“Would you be Mr Roberts?”

“Aye, I would,” Mr Roberts said. “And who’re you?”

“Weasley and Black – two tents, booked a couple of days ago?”

“Aye,” Mr Roberts said, consulting a list tacked to the door. “You’ve got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?”

“That’s it,” Mr Weasley said.

“You’ll be paying now, then?” Mr Roberts said.

“Ah – right – certainly –“ said Mr Weasley. He retreated a short distance from the cottage and beckoned the twins towards him. “Would you be able to help me please?” he muttered, pulling a roll of Muggle money from his pocket and starting to peel the notes apart. “This one’s a – a – a ten? Ah, yes, I see the little number on it now … so this is a five?”

< Doesn’t he work in the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Department or something? > Hermione muttered, taking the money off Mr Weasley, unable to muster the patience to talk him through it.

< Yeah, he does, > Harry replied, trying to keep a blank look on his face. < He’s the fucking head of the department. >

Mr Roberts rummaged around in a tin for some change after Hermione handed over the money. “Never been this crowded,” he said, looking out over the misty field. “Hundreds of pre-bookings. People usually just turn up …”

“Is that right?” Mr Weasley said, his hand held out for his change. At that moment, a wizard in plus-fours appeared out of thin air next to Mr Roberts’s front door.

_“Obliviate!”_ he said sharply, pointing his wand at Mr Roberts. Harry’s jaw dropped at the casual use of such heavy magic. Instantly, Mr Roberts’s eyes slid out of focus, his brows unknitted, and a look of dreamy unconcern fell over his face as he handed over the change and a map of the campsite.

The wizard in plus-fours accompanied them towards the gate to the campsite. He looked exhausted; his chin was blue with stubble and there were deep purple shadows under his eyes. Once out of earshot of Mr Roberts, he muttered to Mr Weasley, “Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a Memory Charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman’s not helping. Trotting around talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I’ll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur.” He promptly Disapparated with a crack.

Harry and Hermione devolved into a furious debate over the treatment of Muggles, the ethical use of Memory Charms, especially when used repeatedly, and just how could the head of a Muggle department in the Ministry know so little about Muggles themselves. They were so lost in thought as they trudged up the misty field that they missed half of the odd tents, most of them so obviously magical that it was hardly a surprise that Mr Roberts was getting suspicious. One of the tents was essentially a miniature palace, complete with peacocks swanning around the entrance.

“Always the same,” Mr Weasley said, smiling, “we can’t resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, look, this is us.” They had reached the very edge of the wood at the top of the field and there were two empty spaces indicating ‘Weasley’ and ‘Black’. “Couldn’t have a better spot! The pitch is just on the other side of the wood there, we’re as close as we could be.” He hoisted his backpack from his shoulders. “Right,” he said, excitedly, “no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we’re out in these numbers on Muggle land. We’ll be putting these tents up by hand! Shouldn’t be too difficult … Muggles do it all the time …”

Hermione gave Sirius a very pointed look that told him very clearly she would not be putting up tents by hand, and he better do something before she opened his mouth. Harry was secretly very glad, having no wish to put a tent up when one wave of a wand would do it. Sirius, thankfully, equally had no interest in fucking around and waved his wand to erect their tent, transforming into Padfoot before Mr Weasley could say anything and entering the tent. < Well, we’ve slept in smaller spaces, > Harry said, pushing Hermione into the tent, before anyone else could speak to them. Their jaws dropped as they entered the tent; they were in a stylish four bedroom flat, complete with bathroom and kitchen.

Sirius switched back and smiled at the pair. “Settle in,” he said. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to have a nap … fuck this early waking shit.” He promptly switched back and curled up on one of the beds.

-/-

A deep, booming gong sounded somewhere beyond the woods, and, at once, green and red lanterns blazed into life in the trees, lighting a path to the pitch.

“It’s time!” Fred yelled in excitement, as the rest of them gathered. “Come on, let’s go!” They all hurried into the wood, following the lantern-lit trail. Harry clutched Hermione’s hand to ensure she wouldn’t get lost, as he delved into an argument with Fred, Ginny, and George over who was going to win. Him and Ginny were firmly on Team Bulgaria while the Weasley twins were staunchly Team Ireland. They could hear the sounds of thousands of people moving around them, shouts and laughter, snatches of singing. The atmosphere of feverish excitement was highly infectious; even Hermione couldn’t help but grin. They walked through the wood for twenty minutes, talking and joking loudly, until at last they emerged on the other side, and found themselves in the shadow of a gigantic stadium.

“Seats a hundred thousand,” Mr Weasley said, looking up at the massive structure. “Ministry task force of five hundred have been working on it all year. Muggle-Repelling Charms on every inch of it. Every time Muggles have got anywhere near here all year, they’ve suddenly remembered urgent appointments and had to dash away again … bless them,” he added fondly, leading the way towards the nearest entrance, which was already surrounded by a swarm of shouting witches and wizards.

“Prime seats!” said the Ministry witch at the entrance, when she checked all their tickets. “Top Box! Straight upstairs, Arthur, as high as you can go!”

The stairs into the stadium were carpeted in rich purple and they clambered upwards with the rest of the crowd, which slowly filtered away through doors into the stands to their left and right. They kept climbing until at least they reached the top of the staircase, and found themselves in a small box, set at the highest point of the stadium and situated exactly half-way between the golden goalposts. About twenty purple-and-gilt chairs stood in two rows, looking down on an incredible scene. A hundred thousand witches and wizards were taking their places in the seats which rose in levels around the long oval pitch. Everything was suffused with a mysterious golden light that seemed to come from the stadium itself. The pitch looked smooth as velvet from their lofty position. At either end of the pitch stood three goal hoops, fifty feet high; right opposite them, almost at their eye level, was a gigantic blackboard. Gold writing kept dashing across it as though an invisible giant’s hand was scrawling upon it and then wiping the advertisements off again.

Sirius led them to their seats in the front row. Hermione kept staring out at the massive stadium, but Harry looked around to see who else was sharing the box with them. So far it was empty, except for a tiny creature, its face hidden in its hands, sitting in the second from last seat at the end of the row behind them. For a brief second, looking at the long, bat-like ears, Harry thought Dobby had come along with them, before realising it was another elf. “Umm … hello,” he said softly to the little elf.

The tiny elf looked up and parted its fingers, revealing enormous brown eyes and a nose the exact size and shape of a large tomato. Her eyes widened to the size of side plates as they rested upon Harry’s scar, her eyes flicking across to Hermione who had just turned around to see what her brother was doing. “Hello sir,” she squeaked. “Yous is surely Harry and Hermione Potter!”

“Yeah, we are,” Harry said.

“I is hearing that you is taking in Dobby, sir,” she squeaked.

“Err … yeah,” Harry replied, suddenly wondering if house-elves all talked with each other. “It’s great, he’s having lots of fun.”

Winky frowned at that. “House-elves is not supposed to have fun, Harry Potter, sir,” she said firmly, from behind her hands. “House-elves does what they is told. I is not liking heights at all but my master sends me to the Top Box and I comes, sir. Winky is a good house-elf.” She gave the edge of a box a frightened look and hid her face completely again.

Harry turned back around, unsure what to make of the conversation, giving his sister a confused look.

< This is why we don’t make conversation, > Hermione said, casting her eyes back sadly at the little elf. < Wonder who her master is … bet he’s a real fucking dick. >

The box filled gradually around them over the next half hour. They kept shaking hands with people who were obviously very important and all very keen to meet the twins apparently, as well as Sirius Black, each one of them muttering assurances that they’d all thought he’d been innocent, until Harry was sure he was going to have to prevent a murder from occurring. Mr Weasley also kept shaking hands as he knew everyone, while Percy jumped to his feet so often that he looked like he was trying to sit on a hedgehog. When Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself, arrived, Percy bowed so low that his glasses fell off and shattered. Highly embarrassed, he repaired them with his wand, and thereafter remained in his seat, joining Ron in throwing jealous looks at Harry and Hermione, whom Cornelius Fudge had greeted like they were old friends. Given that he had ensured their godfather’s freedom, they were mostly happy to shake his hand and greet him back as he introduced them both to the wizards on either side of him.

“Harry and Hermione Potter, you know,” he loudly told the Bulgarian Minister, who was wearing splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold and didn’t seem to understand a word of English. “Harry and Hermione Potter … oh, come on now, you know who they are … the twins who survived You-Know-Who … you do know who they are –“

The Bulgarian wizard suddenly spotted their scars and started gabbling loudly and excitedly, pointing at it. Harry plastered a smile on his face and tried to look respectable, hiding his discomfort.

“Knew we’d get there in the end,” Fudge said wearily to them. “I’m no great shakes at languages, I need Barty Crouch for this sort of thing. Ah, I see his house-elf’s saving him a seat … good job too, these Bulgarian blighters have been trying to cadge all the best places … ah, and here’s Lucius!”

Harry and Hermione turned to see Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco edging along the second row to three still-empty seats right behind Mr Weasley. They both waved happily at Draco who nodded his head back at them.

“Ah, Fudge,” said Mr Malfoy, holding out his hand as he reached the Minister for Magic. “How are you? You know my wife, Narcissa, of course, and this is our son, Draco.”

“How do you do, how do you do?” Fudge said, smiling and bowing to Mrs Malfoy. “And allow me to introduce you to Mr Oblansk – Obalonsk – Mr – well, he’s the Bulgarian Minister for Magic, and he can’t understand a word I’m saying anyway, so never mind. And let’s see – you know Lord Sirius Black, I daresay?”

Sirius grinned ferally at the other man. “Lucius,” he said. “A pleasure as always. And I want to thank you for having Harry and Hermione over last year; I’ve heard **all** about it.”

Narcissa’s laughter tinkled out. “Ah, cousin,” she said. “You haven’t changed at all. I have no doubt my young Hermione is in very good hands with you; she is, after all, truly a Black at heart.” She leant forward to kiss Sirius’ cheek before smiling broadly at Harry and Hermione. “And hello to you two, Harry and Hermione. Draco has told me all about your adventures again this year. I must thank you for the service you have done to the House of Black.”

Harry bowed slightly. “No thanks are needed, my Lady. It is our greatest happiness to have Sirius back with us.”

“As always, you are an honour to the House of Potter,” Narcissa said warmly.

Fudge smiled at all of them and clapped their hands. “I’m so glad I could help be a part of getting Sirius’ his freedom,” he said. Harry stepped on Sirius’ foot before he could say anything. “Now let’s see who else – you know Arthur Weasley, I daresay?”

Hermione had to hold herself back from laughing out loud, vividly recalling the last time those two had come face to face. It had been in Flourish and Blotts bookshop, and they had a vicious fight. Mr Malfoy’s cold grey eyes swept over Mr Weasley, and then up and down the row. “Gods, Arthur,” he said softly. “What did you have to sell to get seats in the Top Box? Surely your house wouldn’t have fetched this much?”

Fudge, who wasn’t listening, said, “Lucius has just given a very generous contribution to St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Arthur. He’s here as my guest.”

“How nice,” Mr Weasley said, with a very strained smile, as the Malfoys took their seats.

Next moment, Ludo Bagman had charged into the box. “Everyone ready?” he said, his round face gleaming. “Minister – ready to go?”

“Ready when you are, Ludo,” Fudge said comfortably.

Ludo whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat and said _“Sonorus!”_ and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. “Ladies and gentlemen … welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message and now showed BULGARIA: ZERO, IRELAND: ZERO. “And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce … the Bulgarian Team Mascots!”

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval. “I wonder what they’ve brought?” said Mr Weasley, leaning forward in his seat. “Aaah! Veela!”

Before Harry could ask, a hundred Veela glided out onto the pitch. Veela were women … the most beautiful women anyone had ever seen, their skin shining moon-bright, their white-gold hair fanning out behind them without wind. Hermione yanked him over the bond. < Come over here, would you? > she said. < They’ll use their Allure. > Harry slid over just as the Veela started to dance and he watched them calmly and happily dance faster and wilder in time to the beating drums. Through Hermione, they glanced around the rest of the Top Box to see Ron, Percy, and Draco all standing up, trying to make their way towards the edge of the box.

< What the fuck? > Harry said. Hermione and Ginny both laughed loudly at the boys. Ron was frozen in an attitude that looked as though he was about to dive from a springboard.

< Veela allure, > Hermione said. < It’s one of their powers. Some kind of magical trance or something. >

“And now,” roared Ludo Bagman’s voice, “kindly put your wands in the air … for the Irish National Team Mascots!”

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet had come zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling towards the goalposts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the pitch, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd ‘ooohed’ and ‘aaaahed’ at the firework display. Now the rainbow faded, and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. The twins looked up as the shamrock soared over their heads, and heavy gold coins rained from it, bouncing off their heads and seats. Squinting up, Harry realised that it was actually composed of thousands of tiny little bearded men with red waistcoats, each carrying a minute lamp of gold or green. < Ohhh, they’re leprechauns, > Harry realised. < Don’t touch the gold, it’s fake. > The great shamrock dissolved, and the leprechauns drifted down onto the pitch on the opposite side from the Veela and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome – the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you – Dimitrov!” A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the pitch from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. “Ivanova!” A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out. “Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand – Krum!”

Harry stared closely at Krum, the seeker, a thin, dark and sallow-skinned young man with a large curved nose and thick black eyebrows. < He’s the best Seeker in the world, Mi Mi! > he yelled excitedly. < And he’s only eighteen! >

“And now, please greet – the Irish National Quidditch Team!” yelled Bagman. “Presenting – Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand – Lynch!” Seven green blurs swept onto the pitch. “And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!”

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a moustache to rival Uncle Vernon’s, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the pitch. A silver whistle was protruding from under the moustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. Harry watched closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open – four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers and (Harry saw it for the briefest moment, before it sped out of sight) the minuscule, winged, Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls.

“Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

-/-

It was Quidditch as Harry had never seen it played before. He was still loudly going over everything he’d seen and what he was going to try out the moment he got back to his broomstick, Hermione half-heartedly trying to listen to what her brother was saying. Krum had caught the Snitch, but Ireland had won. She breathed a sigh of relief when Harry caught up with Draco and the two of them started talking about how good the Irish Chasers had been and how could Slytherin implement some of their techniques.

“Quidditch not for you, pup?” Sirius said, nudging her gently, putting his arm around her as the crowds buffeted around them.

“I like it cause Harry likes it,” she said, shrugging. “It was a pretty good match … I just have no wish to ever get on a broomstick.” She looked up at him. “Thanks for taking us though. I know it’s not easy being in crowds yet.”

“You see too much sometimes,” Sirius said, shaking his head sadly. “I’m ok, I promise, you don’t need to worry about me.”

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne towards them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. When they finally reached their tent, nobody felt like sleeping at all and, given the level of noise around them, Sirius pulled out some hot chocolate in a thermos along with some Chocolate Frogs and they all gathered around to let Harry discuss the match one last time before turning in. As Hermione started yawning continuously, Sirius dragged them both into bed, pulling the covers up over them, before switching into Padfoot and curling up at the foot of the bed. From the other side of the campsite they could still hear much singing, and the odd echoing bang. Feeling Harry’s thoughts, Hermione resigned herself to a night of dreams about Quidditch and let herself slowly slip into sleep.


	11. Chaos at the Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fate has set the ball rolling now 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

They were both dragged out of sleep by Padfoot barking loudly at them, switching back to Sirius when they sat up and stared at him blearily. A second later, they didn’t even have to ask; it was obvious that something was wrong. The noises in the campsite had changed. The singing had stopped. They could hear screams, and the sound of people running. As one, they jumped out of bed and dragged their clothes back on, looking anxiously at Sirius. Hermione grabbed her bag, quickly checking around to make sure there was nothing else important was left out. “Come on,” he said urgently in a low voice, grabbing their hands and hurrying them out of the tent.

By the light of the few fires that were still burning, they could see people running away into the woods, fleeing something that was moving across the field towards them, something that was emitting odd flashes of light, and noises like gunfire. Loud jeering, roars of laughter and drunken yells were drifting towards them; then came a burst of strong green light, which illuminated the scene.

A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upwards, was marching slowly across the field. The twins squinted at them … they didn’t seem to have faces … then they realised that their heads were hooded, and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in mid-air, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice the twins saw one of the marchers blast a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder.

The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent, and Harry recognised one of them – Mr Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs Roberts upside-down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee. They both stared in horror as the smallest Muggle child began to spin like a top, sixty feet above the ground, his head flopping limply from side to side. Ministry wizards were dashing from every direction towards the source of the trouble. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was coming ever closer. With a growl, Sirius dragged them towards the woods. They all looked back as they reached the trees. The crowd beneath the Roberts family was larger than ever; they could see the Ministry wizards trying to get through it to the hooded wizards in the centre, but they were having great difficulty. It looked as though they were scared to perform any spell that might make the Roberts family fall.

The coloured lanterns that had lit the path to the stadium had been extinguished. Dark figures were blundering through the trees; children were crying; anxious shouts and panicked voices were reverberating around them in the cold night air. Harry felt himself being pushed hither and thither by people whose faces he could not see. Growling, Sirius dragged them both behind a large tree, out of the way of the blundering panicking crowd. They watched silently as hundreds of people scurried past them. < I don’t like this, Me Me, > Hermione said anxiously. < Did you see what they were wearing? >

< The Skull Masks of the Death Eaters, > Harry replied, looking around. < It can’t be him though. Remember, he was worried about all the security at the Quidditch World Cup. He said everything would happen afterwards. >

< Our scars aren’t hurting either, > Hermione said. “Oh,” she said softly. “Draco,” she hissed, spotting the white-haired boy. “Draco!” Harry and Sirius turned around to spot Draco hiding alone behind another tree near them, watching the scene on the campsite through a gap in the trees. Hermione glanced around again before loudly calling his name which finally caught his attention.

“Hermione,” he whispered, hurrying over to them. “Oh, thank the gods. I don’t know where my parents are.”

Hermione had a very unpleasant thought, and felt through the bond that Harry had the same one. Unfortunately, Sirius voiced it out loud. “They’re not out there wearing masks, are they?” he said pointedly.

Draco flinched at the accusation before glaring at Harry and Hermione. “You know that’s not true,” he said. “We gave you our word and I promised you that House Malfoy would follow you … I woke up in the tent alone, I don’t know where they are.”

Sirius snorted and Hermione stepped on his foot. “Of course, Draco,” she said. “Why don’t you come with us? It’s not safe to be alone … hopefully we’ll find your parents along the way.” There came a bang from the other side of the trees that was louder than anything they had heard. Several people nearby screamed.

Sirius shifted into Padfoot and sniffed the air, his eyes pricked up as he listened intently. Barking softly, he crept off into the trees, the twins and Draco following quickly after him. A fair way into the woods, they stopped, and Sirius shifted back. “We’re far enough away now,” he said. “We can get back on the path and make our way safely towards the edge of the forest and out of the wards.”

“Wards?” Draco said.

“Mmm, I can feel them. Someone’s put up Anti-Apparition Wards,” Sirius replied. “Presumably someone in that crowd of lunatics. Come on.”

The path was less crowded now and they could make their way easily through. A huddle of teenagers in pyjamas was arguing vociferously a little way along the path. When they saw the twins, a girl with thick, curly hair turned and said quickly, “Où est Madame Maxime? Nous l’avons perdue –“

“Er – what?” said Harry.

“Oh …” The girl who had spoken turned her back on him, and as they walked on, they distinctly heard her say, “’Ogwarts.”

“Beauxbatons,” Draco said. “They said they’ve lost Madame Maxine.” He pulled his wand out and lit it up, glancing around between the trees. Hermione lit hers up too as they continued along the path.

Harry dug in the pockets of his jacket for his own wand – but it wasn’t there. < Mi Mi, > he said frantically. < I’ve lost my wand! > Hermione turned around to stare at him in horror before searching the ground, hoping to see it nearby. A rustling noise made them jump and they turned to see Winky the house-elf fighting her way out of a clump of bushes nearby. < What the fuck? > Harry said, temporarily distracted from his own woes.

She was moving in a most peculiar fashion, apparently with great difficulty; it was as though someone invisible was trying to hold her back. “There is bad wizards about!” she squeaked distractedly, as she leant forwards and laboured to keep running. “People high – high in the air! Winky is getting out of the way!” She disappeared into the trees on the other side of the path, panting and squeaking as she fought the force that was restraining her.

< She mustn’t have permission, > Hermione said, getting angry on Winky’s behalf. < That Mr Crouch, he’s a right knob, isn’t he? Makes her go up to the top of the stadium even though she’s afraid of heights and then doesn’t even attend the fucking match. And now poor Winky is running terrified. >

< Alright, well we can kill Mr Crouch later, > Harry said. < We’ve got slightly bigger problems. I have no wand. >

“What the hell are you two doing?” Sirius hissed, marching back down the path. He lowered his voice. “You can telepathically talk **and** walk, come on!” They set off again, Harry still searching his pockets, even though he knew his wand wasn’t there. They hadn’t gone even two steps when their names were called out behind them. Sirius drew them behind him, his wand outstretched, relaxing as Fred, George, and Ginny stumbled towards them. “Come on,” Sirius said again. “Join the world’s worst day-care.” He transformed back into Padfoot and headed off.

They followed the dark path deeper into the wood, passing a group of goblins, who were cackling over a sack of gold they had undoubtedly won betting on the match, and who seemed quite unperturbed by the trouble on the campsite. Further still along the path, they walked into a patch of silvery light, and when they looked through the trees, they saw three tall and beautiful Veela standing in a clearing, surrounded by a gaggle of young wizards, all of whom were talking very loudly. “I pull down about a hundred sacks of Galleons a year,” one of them shouted. “I’m a dragon-killer for the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures.” “No, you’re not,” yelled his friend, “you’re a dish-washer at the Leaky Cauldron … but I’m a Vampire Hunter, I’ve killed about ninety so far –“

A third young wizard, whose pimples were visible even by the dim, silvery light of the Veela, now cut in, “I’m about to become the youngest ever Minister for Magic, I am.” Harry snorted with laughter. He recognised the pimply wizard; his name was Stan Shunpike, and he was in fact a conductor on the triple-decker Knight Bus.

By the time the sounds of the Veela and their admirers had faded completely, they were in the very heart of the wood. They seemed to be alone now; everything was much quieter. The whole group startled as Ludo Bagman emerged from behind a tree right ahead of them. Even by the feeble light of the two wands, the twins could see that a great change had come over Bagman. He no longer looked buoyant and rosy faced; there was no more spring in his step. He looked very white and strained. “Who’s that?” he said, blinking down at them, trying to make out their faces. “What are you doing out here?”

They all looked at each other, surprised. “There’s a riot,” Hermione said, her tone clearly conveying what an idiot she thought he was. “Back at the campsite. Some people have got hold of a family of Muggles …”

Bagman swore loudly. “Damn them!” he said, looking quite distracted, and without another word, he plundered forward, heading towards the noise.

“What an idiot,” George muttered. “Hold up Sirius.” He swung his backpack off and pulled a flask out, handing it over to Ginny.

Something prickled up the back of Harry’s neck and he looked fearfully at Hermione, noticing she had the same expression on her face. < Cover me, > he muttered, trying to let his senses spread out, trying to search for what was making their neck prickle. He opened his eyes as he caught it, the sound of someone staggering towards them, uneven footsteps that came to a sudden halt. He peered into the darkness, sensing somebody standing just beyond the range of his vision. < There’s someone there, Mi Mi, > he said, missing his wand even more. Hermione turned to try and subtly catch Sirius’ attention but there was no need.

Without warning, the silence was rent by a voice unlike any they had heard in the woods; and it uttered, not a panicked shout, but what sounded like a spell. " _MORSMORDRE!"_ And something vast, green and glittering erupted from the patch of darkness, flying up over the treetops and into the sky. For a split second, Harry thought it was another leprechaun formation. Then he realised exactly what it was, Hermione loudly swearing over the bond. The Dark Mark, a colossal skull, composed of what looked like emerald stars, with a serpent protruding from its mouth like a tongue. As they watched, it rose higher and higher, blazing in a haze of greenish smoke, etched against the black sky like a new constellation.

Suddenly, the wood all around them erupted with screams. Draco and Ginny both had lost all colour as they stared up at the huge skull. Sirius shifted and grabbed Harry and Hermione, dragging them away from it all but before they had taken more than a few hurried steps, a series of popping noises announced the arrival of twenty wizards, appearing from thin air, surrounding them.

They whirled around, and in a split second, Sirius registered several things: the wards must be down, he'd lost his grip on the twins and they were now too far away for him to grab them and Disapparate safely, and each of these wizards had his wand out, and every wand was pointing right at their group. Without pausing to think, Sirius yelled, “DOWN!” He seized as many kids as he could and pulled them down onto the ground. _“STUPEFY!”_ roared twenty voices – there was a blinding series of flashes and everyone felt the hair on their heads ripple as though a powerful wind had swept the clearing. Hermione raised her head just a fraction of an inch to see jets of fiery red light flying over them from the wizards’ wands, crossing each other, bouncing off tree-trunks, rebounding into the darkness –

“Stop!” came Mr Weasley’s voice. “STOP! Mr Crouch, stop! They’re my children!”

“Out of the way, Arthur,” said a cold, curt voice. It was Mr Crouch. He and the other Ministry wizards were closing in on them. Harry and Hermione got to their feet to face them, but Sirius stepped in front of them, a very dark look on his face. It was hard to tell who had the scarier expression as Mr Crouch’s face was taut with rage.

“Which of you did it?” he snapped, his sharp eyes darting between them. “Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?”

“We didn’t do it,” Sirius said in a hard voice, his teeth clenched. Draco looked very indignant at being accused.

“Do not lie, sir!” shouted Mr Crouch, his wand still pointed towards them, his eyes popping – he looked completely mad. “You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!”

“Barty, come on,” Mr Weasley said. “They didn’t do it.” He turned to the group. “Where did the Mark come from?”

“Over there,” Harry said, indicating the place he’d seen the spell come from. “There was someone behind the trees there, they cast the spell.”

“Oh, stood over there, did they?” Mr Crouch said, turning his popping eyes directly onto Harry, disbelief etched all over his face. “Said the spell, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned –“

Hermione interrupted him, a furious look on her face. “Do you know who you’re speaking to?” she said in her haughtiest voice. “How dare you insinuate that my brother would ever cast Voldemort’s Mark!”

Nearly everyone in the clearing flinched as she said his name and Mr Crouch went pale. There was a very long pause before the rest of the Ministry wizards turned their wands towards the place Harry had indicated, squinting through the dark trees.

“We’re too late,” said a witch in the woollen dressing-gown, shaking her head. “They’ll have Disapparated.”

“I don’t think so,” said a wizard with a scrubby brown beard. It was Amos Diggory, Cedric’s father. “Our Stunners went right through those trees … there’s a good chance we got them …”

“Amos, be careful!” said a few of the wizards warningly, as Mr Diggory squared his shoulders, raised his wand, marched across the clearing and disappeared into the darkness. A few seconds later, they heard Mr Diggory shout. “Yes! We got them! There’s someone here! Unconscious! It’s – but – blimey …”

“You’ve got someone?” shouted Mr Crouch, sounding highly disbelieving. “Who? Who is it?” They heard snapping twigs, the rustling of leaves, and then crunching footsteps as Mr Diggory re-emerged from behind the trees. He was carrying a tiny, limp figure in his arms. Harry and Hermione recognised the tea-towel at once. It was Winky the House-Elf. Mr Crouch did not move or speak as Mr Diggory deposited Mr Crouch’s elf on the ground at his feet. The other Ministry wizards were all staring at Mr Crouch. For a few seconds Crouch remained transfixed, his eyes blazing in his white face as he stared down at Winky. Then he appeared to come to life again. “This – cannot – be,” he said jerkily. “No –“ He moved quickly around Mr Diggory and strode off towards the place where he had found Winky.

“No point, Mr Crouch,” Mr Diggory called after him. “There’s no one else there.” But Mr Crouch did not seem prepared to take his word for it. They could hear him moving around, the rustling of leaves as he pushed the bushes aside, searching. “Bit embarrassing,” Mr Diggory said grimly, looking down at Winky’s unconscious form. “Barty Crouch’s house-elf … I mean to say …”

“Come off it, Amos,” said Mr Weasley quietly, “you don’t seriously think it was the elf? The Dark Mark’s a wizard’s sign. It requires a wand.”

“Yeah,” said Mr Diggory, “and she had a wand.”

“What?” said Mr Weasley.

“Here, look.” Mr Diggory held up a wand and showed it to Mr Weasley. “Had it in her hand. So that’s clause three of the Code of Wand Use broken for a start. No non-human creature is permitted to carry or use a wand.”

Just then there was another pop, and Ludo Bagman Apparated right next to Mr Weasley. Looking breathless and disorientated, he spun on the spot, goggling upwards at the emerald green skull. “The Dark Mark!” he panted, almost trampling Winky as he turned enquiringly to his colleagues. “Who did it? Did you get them? Barty! What’s going on?” Mr Crouch had returned empty-handed. His face was still ghostly white, and his hands and his toothbrush moustache were both twitching. “Where have you been, Barty?” said Bagman. “Why weren’t you at the match? Your elf was saving you a seat, too – Gulping gargoyles!” Bagman had just noticed Winky lying at his feet. “What happened to her?”

< This is a fucking circus, > Hermione muttered. She could feel the dark amusement radiating off Sirius as he continued to glare at Mr Crouch. 

“I have been busy, Ludo,” said Mr Crouch, still talking in the same jerky fashion, barely moving his lips. “And my elf has been Stunned.”

“Stunned? By you lot, you mean? But why –?” Comprehension dawned suddenly on Bagman’s round, shiny face; he looked up at the skull, down at Winky and then at Mr Crouch. “No!” he said. “Winky? Conjure the Dark Mark? She wouldn’t know how! She’d need a wand for a start!”

“And she had one,” said Mr Diggory. “I found her holding one, Ludo. If it’s all right with you, Mr Crouch, I think we should hear what she’s got to say for herself.” Crouch gave no sign that he had heard Mr Diggory, but Mr Diggory seemed to take his silence for assent. He raised his own wand, pointed it at Winky and said, _“Rennervate!”_ Winky stirred feebly. Her great brown eyes opened, and she blinked several times in a bemused sort of way. Watched by the silent wizards, she raised herself shakily into a sitting position. She caught sight of Mr Diggory’s feet, and slowly, tremulously, raised her eyes to stare up into his face; then, more slowly still, she looked up into the sky. Harry could see the floating skull reflected twice in her enormous, glassy eyes. She gave a gasp, looked wildly around the crowded clearing and burst into terrified sobs. “Elf!” said Mr Diggory sternly. “Do you know who I am? I’m a member of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!” Winky began to rock backwards and forwards on the ground, her breath coming in sharp bursts. Harry was reminded forcibly of Dobby in his moments of terrified disobedience. “As you see, elf, the Dark Mark was conjured here a short while ago,” said Mr Diggory. “And you were discovered moments later, right beneath it! An explanation, if you please!”

“I – I – I is not doing it, sir!” Winky gasped. “I is not knowing how, sir!”

“You were found with a wand in your hand!” barked Mr Diggory, brandishing it in front of her. And as the wand caught the green light that was filling the clearing from the skull above, Harry recognised it.

“Hey – that’s mine!” he said.

Everyone in the clearing looked at him. “Excuse me?” said Mr Diggory, incredulously.

“That’s my wand!” said Harry. “I dropped it!”

“You dropped it?” repeated Mr Diggory in disbelief. “Is this a confession? You threw it aside after you conjured the Mark?”

Sirius growled at the other man. “Careful what you say, Amos,” he said harshly. “They’re my godchildren, and they just so happen to be the Twins-Who-Lived. Do you really think they conjured the Dark Mark?”

“Er … no … sorry, got carried away,” Amos mumbled. His eyes hardened again as he turned to look at Winky again, who was cowering at his feet. “You found this wand, eh, elf? And you picked it up and thought you’d have some fun with it, did you?”

“I is not doing magic with it, sir!” squealed Winky, tears streaming down the sides of her squashed and bulbous nose. “I is … I is … I is just picking it up, sir! I is not making the Dark Mark, sir, I is not knowing how!”

“It wasn’t her!” said Hermione angrily. “Winky’s got a squeaky little voice and the voice we heard doing the incantation was much deeper! It didn’t sound anything like Winky!”

“It definitely didn’t sound like an elf,” Draco piped up in support of Hermione, everyone else nodding their agreeance.

“Well, we’ll soon see,” growled Mr Diggory, looking unimpressed. “There’s a simple way of discovering the last spell a wand performed, elf, did you know that?” Winky trembled and shook her head frantically, her ears flapping, as Mr Diggory raised his own wand again, and placed it tip to tip with Harry’s. _“Priori Incantato!”_ roared Mr Diggory. Harry gasped, horrified, as a gigantic serpent-tongued skull erupted from the point where the two wands met, but it was a mere shadow of the green skull high above them, it looked as though it was made of thick grey smoke: the ghost of a spell. _“Deletrius!”_ Mr Diggory shouted, and the smoky skull vanished in a wisp of smoke. “So,” said Mr Diggory with a kind of savage triumph, looking down upon Winky, who was still shaking convulsively.

“I is not doing it!” she squealed, her eyes rolling in terror. “I is not, I is not, I is not knowing how! I is a good elf, I isn’t using wands, I isn’t knowing how!”

“You’ve been caught red-handed, elf!” Mr Diggory roared. “Caught with the guilty wand in your hand!”

“Amos,” said Mr Weasley loudly, “think about it … precious few wizards know how to do that spell … where would she have learnt it?”

“Perhaps Amos is suggesting,” said Mr Crouch, cold anger in every syllable, “that I routinely teach my servants to conjure the Dark Mark?”

"She could have learnt it from someone else in your household," Sirius said, raising an eyebrow, a menacing grin on his face. "Obviously a few years ago now, if I recall ..." 

There was a deeply unpleasant silence and Harry realised with utter horror that Hermione had inherited her ability to completely fuck situations up with a single sentence from the Black side of the family. 

“How ... how dare you?" Mr Crouch seethed. "Besides the Potter twins, I am the least likely person in this clearing to have conjured the Mark. I know you are all familiar with my story!" 

“Of course – everyone knows –“ muttered Mr Diggory, looking highly discomfited. Sirius still had a dark look of amusement on his face. 

“And I trust you remember the many proofs I have given, over a long career, that I despise and detest the Dark Arts and those who practise them?” Mr Crouch shouted, his eyes bulging again.

“Mmm, so much that you’ll lock people away without a trial,” Sirius said, his grey eyes dark.

“If you accuse my elf, you accuse me, Diggory!” shouted Mr Crouch, as though he hadn’t heard Sirius. “Where else would she have learnt to conjure it?”

“She – she might’ve picked it up anywhere."

"Precisely, Amos,” said Mr Weasley. “She might have picked it up anywhere … Winky?” he said kindly, turning to the elf, but she flinched as though he, too, was shouting at her. “Where exactly did you find Harry’s wand?”

Winky was twisting the hem of her tea-towel so violently that it was fraying beneath her fingers. “I – I is finding it … finding it there, sir …” she whispered, “there … in the trees, sir …”

“You see, Amos?” said Mr Weasley. “Whoever conjured the Mark could have Disapparated right after they’d done it, leaving Harry’s wand behind. A clever thing to do, not using their own wand, which could have betrayed them. And Winky here had the misfortune to come across the wand moments later and pick it up.”

“But then, she’d have been feet away from the real culprit!” said Mr Diggory impatiently. “Elf? Did you see anyone?”

Winky began to tremble worse than ever. Hermione watched as her giant eyes flickered from Mr Diggory to Ludo Bagman, and on to Mr Crouch. Then she gulped, and said, “I is seeing no one, sir … no one…”

“Amos,” said Mr Crouch curtly, “I am fully aware that, in the ordinary course of events, you would want to take Winky into your department for questioning. I ask you, however, to allow me to deal with her.” Mr Diggory looked as though he didn’t think much of this suggestion at all, but it was clear to the twins that Mr Crouch was such an important member of the Ministry that he did not dare refuse him. “You may rest assured that she will be punished,” Mr Crouch added coldly.

“M-m-master …” Winky stammered, looking up at Mr Crouch, her eyes brimming with tears. “M-m-master, p-p-please …”

Mr Crouch stared back, his face somehow sharpened, each line upon it more deeply etched. There was no pity in his gaze. “Winky has behaved tonight in a manner I would not have believed possible,” he said slowly. “I told her to remain in the tent. I told her to stay there while I went to sort out the trouble. And I find that she disobeyed me. This means clothes.”

“No!” shrieked Winky, prostrating herself at Mr Crouch’s feet. “No, master! Not clothes, not clothes!” It was pitiful to see the way Winky clutched at her tea-towel as she sobbed over Mr Crouch’s feet.

“But she was frightened!” Hermione burst out angrily, glaring at Mr Crouch again. “Your elf’s scared of heights, and those wizards in masks were levitating people! You can’t blame her for wanting to get out of their way!”

Mr Crouch took a step backwards, freeing himself from contact with the elf, whom he was surveying as though she was something filthy and rotten that was contaminating his over-shined shoes. “I have no use for a house-elf who disobeys me,” he said coldly, looking up at Hermione. “I have no use for a servant who forgets what is due to her master, and to her master’s reputation.” Winky was crying so hard that her sobs echoed around the clearing.

There was a very nasty silence, which was ended by Mr Weasley, who said quietly, “Well, I think we’ll go, if nobody’s got any objections. Amos, that wand’s told us all it can – if Harry could have it back, please –“

Mr Diggory handed Harry his wand and Harry pocketed it. He grabbed Hermione’s hand, trying to tug her away but she didn’t want to move, her eyes still upon the sobbing elf. < Not now, Mi Mi, > he muttered. < Mr Crouch is a pretty powerful man. We need to leave. >

< It’s not right, > she said furiously, but allowed herself to be led away. Sirius transformed again, and loped ahead, scouting for anyone in their path. The few people left in the woods scattered quickly at the sight of his Grim-looking Animagi. It was only when they reached the edge of the wood that their progress was impeded. A large crowd of frightened-looking witches and wizards was congregated there, and when they saw Mr Weasley coming towards them, many of them surged forwards. “What’s going on in there?” “Who conjured it?” “Arthur – it’s not – him?”

“Of course it’s not him,” said Mr Weasley impatiently. “We don’t know who it was, it looks like they Disapparated. Now excuse me, please, I want to get to bed.” He pushed past everyone and headed back towards their campsite.

All was quiet now; there was no sign of the masked wizards, though several ruined tents were still smoking. Bill stood up as they approached. “Dad, what’s going on?” he called through the dark. “Charlie and Ron got back OK, but the others –“

“I’ve got them here,” said Mr Weasley. Bill sat back down around the fire, holding a bedsheet to his arm, which was bleeding profusely. Charlie had a large rip in his shirt, and Percy was sporting a bloody nose. Ron looked unhurt, though shaken.

“Did you get them, Dad?” said Bill sharply. “The person who conjured the Mark?”

“No,” said Mr Weasley. “We found Barty Crouch’s elf holding Harry’s wand, but we’re none the wiser about who actually conjured the Mark.”

There was silence as everyone took that in, then Bill, removing the sheet from his arm to check on the cut, said, “Well, it didn’t help us tonight, whoever conjured it. It scared the Death Eaters away the moment they saw it. They all Disapparated before we’d got near enough to unmask any of them. We caught the Robertses before they hit the ground, though. They’re having their memories modified right now.”

Sirius waved his wand and their tent collapsed and packed itself up. “Thanks, Arthur,” he said, nodding at the Weasley patriarch. “We need to be on our way; it’s not safe for the twins here.” He turned to the pair of them, eyes searching them head to toe. “You come too, Draco. We’ll find your parents.” He strode off towards the cottage near where they’d entered the field, the other three following after him.

“If there hadn’t been wards up, I would have Apparated you all away immediately,” he said in a low voice. “Death Eaters haven’t been seen out like that since Voldemort was vanquished. Neither has the Dark Mark, for that matter.”

“Why’d they all Disapparate when the Dark Mark was cast then?” Draco asked nervously.

Sirius raised an eyebrow at him, a mean smile creeping across his face. “Your father, especially if he’s promised his allegiance to these two, no doubt fled when he saw both the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark tonight. He’s a clever man, your father, and he worked hard to keep himself out of Azkaban. I can’t blame him for that. But no-one who lied in order to save themselves wants to see Voldemort return. Do you think Voldemort will be pleased with those who denied him?” He shook his head grimly.

Draco frowned at that, clearly biting back his words. “Then who conjured the Dark Mark?” he asked.

“That I don’t know,” Sirius said. “No-one but a Death Eater knows the spell – and I would keep **very** quiet about the fact that we overheard them cast it.”

Before Draco could ask another question, there was a loud scream, and his mother appeared before them, looking most indecorous as she ran towards them. “Draco,” she sobbed, flinging her arms around him. “Oh, thank the Mother, you’re alright.” She glanced up at Sirius, her eyes wet. “Thank you, cousin,” she whispered. “Thank you for looking after my son ... I shall not forget it.”

“Cissa,” Sirius said, taking in her messy hair and torn, blood stained robes. “Are you OK? What happened to you?”

She gave him a long look before sighing heavily. “Some people have heard that Draco pledged to follow the House of Potter and have drawn their own conclusions. I will say no more here, it is not safe. Send me an owl, cousin, but for now, I must get Draco home safe.”

Sirius nodded and there was a loud crack as the two Disapparated. “Take my hands,” he said, and with another loud crack, they landed back outside Potter Manor. “Are you two OK?” he asked urgently.

They looked at each other before nodding. “We’re alright, honestly,” Harry said. “Tired, but we’re OK. Don’t worry about us.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I’d worry about you two if you were just a bunch of normal kids, let alone everything else that surrounds you … come on, let’s go let Moony worry over us as well. No doubt he’s heard by now.”

“Why did you say that stuff to Crouch?” Harry asked as they set off towards the house. “Did you know him?”

Sirius’ face darkened, suddenly looking as menacing as the night when the twins had first met him, when they still believed him to be a murderer. “Oh, I know Crouch all right,” he spat. “Dumbledore may have done nothing to stop it but Crouch is the one who gave the order for me to be sent to Azkaban without a fucking trial.”

“What?” Hermione snarled.

“Back then, Crouch used to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement,” Sirius said. “He was tipped as the next Minister of Magic … he’s a great wizard, Barty Crouch, powerfully magical – and power-hungry. Oh, never a Voldemort supporter,” he said, reading the look on Harry’s face. “No, Barty Crouch was always very outspoken against the Dark Side …” He trailed off and looked down at the twins. “How to describe that time … Imagine that Voldemort’s powerful now. You don’t know who his supporters are, you don’t know who’s working for him and who isn’t; you know he can control people so that they do terrible things without being able to stop themselves. You’re fucking terrified for yourself, and your family, and your friends. Every week, news comes of more deaths, more disappearances, more torturing … the Ministry of Magic’s in disarray, they don’t know what to do, they’re trying to keep everything hidden from the Muggles, but meanwhile, Muggles are dying too. Terror everywhere … panic … confusion … that’s how it used to be."

He rubbed his jaw, his grey eyes still dark. "Well, times like that bring out the best in some people, and the worst in others. Crouch’s principles might’ve been good in the beginning – I wouldn’t know. He rose quickly through the Ministry, and he started ordering very harsh measures against Voldemort’s supporters. The Aurors were given new powers – powers to kill rather than capture, for instance. And I wasn’t the only one who was handed straight to the Dementors without a bloody trial. Crouch fought violence with violence and authorised the use of the Unforgivable Curses against suspects. He was as ruthless and cruel as many on the Dark side. He had his supporters, mind you – plenty of people thought he was going about things the right way, and there were a lot of witches and wizards clamouring for him to take over as Minister for Magic … Look, even I don’t disagree with some of the things he did. With Darkness like this, you really do have to rip it out at the root and set it ablaze. Anyway, when Voldemort disappeared, it looked like only a matter of time until Crouch got the top job. But then something rather unfortunate happened …” Sirius smiled grimly. “Crouch’s own son was caught with a group of Death Eaters. Caught red-handed actually, in the torture of Frank and Alice … completely fucked up, what they did.”

“Crouch’s son was caught?” gasped Hermione.

“Yep,’ said Sirius, that dark look of amusement back on his face. “Nasty little shock for old Barty, I’d imagine. Should have spent a bit more time at home with his family, shouldn’t he? Ought to have left the office early once in a while … got to know his own son, the fucking miserable dick.”

“Was his son a Death Eater?” asked Harry.

“I was in Azkaban myself when he was brought in. This is mostly stuff I’ve found out since I got out. The boy was definitely caught in the company of people I know are Death Eaters – but he might have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, just like the house-elf … but it seems unlikely.”

“Did Crouch try and get his son off?” Harry asked, already knowing the answer.

Sirius let out a laugh that was much more like a bark. “Crouch let his son off? Fuck no. Anything that threatened to tarnish his reputation had to go; he’d dedicated his whole fucking life to becoming Minister for Magic. We just saw him dismiss a devoted house-elf because she associated him with the Dark Mark again – doesn’t that tell you what he’s like? Crouch’s fatherly affection stretched just far enough to give his son a trial and, by all accounts, it wasn’t much more than an excuse for Crouch to show how much he hated the boy … then he sent him straight to Azkaban.”

“He gave his own son to the Dementors?” Hermione asked, shocked.

“That’s right,” said Sirius. “I saw the Dementors bringing him in, watched them through the bars in my cell door. He can’t have been more than nineteen. They took him into a cell near mine. He was screaming for his mother by nightfall. He went quiet after a few days, though … they all went quiet in the end … except when they shrieked in their sleep …” For a moment, the deadened look in Sirius’ eyes became more pronounced than ever, as though shutters had closed behind them.

“So he’s still in Azkaban?” Harry said.

“No,” said Sirius dully. “No, he’s not in there anymore. He died about a year after they brought him in.”

“He died?”

“He wasn’t the only one,” said Sirius bitterly. “Most go mad in there, and plenty stop eating in the end. They lose the will to live. You could always tell when a death was coming, because the Dementors could sense it, they got excited. That boy looked pretty sickly when he arrived. Crouch being an important Ministry member, he and his wife were allowed a deathbed visit. That was the last time I saw Barty Crouch, half carrying his wife past my cell. She died herself, apparently, shortly afterwards. Grief. Wasted away just like the boy. Crouch never came for his son’s body. The Dementors buried him outside the fortress, I watched them do it …

Light re-entered his eyes and he bared his teeth in a grin. "So old Crouch lost it all, just when he thought he had it made. One moment, a hero, poised to become Minister for Magic … next, his son dead, his wife dead, the family name dishonoured, and a big drop in popularity. Once the boy had died, people started feeling a bit more sympathetic towards him, and started asking how a nice young lad from a good family had gone so badly astray. The conclusion was that his father never cared much for him. So Cornelius Fudge got the top job, and Crouch was shunted sideways into the Department of International Magical Co-operation … Couldn’t have happened to a nicer fucking dickhead, if you ask me. Crouch deserves whatever he gets.” 


	12. Off To Hogwarts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The start of fourth year is here!
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

There was a definite end-of-the-holidays gloom in the air when the twins awoke on September First. Heavy rain was splattering against the windows – although thankfully no longer through the roof thanks to Sirius and Remus and Dobby, who were going to start working on proper renovations once the twins were back at school. < Fourth year, Me, > Hermione said, as they got dressed.

< Wonder what will go wrong this year, > Harry only half-joked as threw stuff into the trunk.

< If I’m being honest, last year was fine compared to nearly being eaten by a nest of ginormous spiders, > Hermione said. < I will literally never get over it. > They turned at the knock on their door to see Sirius standing there, something in his hands.

“Are you excited for another year?” he asked, trying not to think of just how much Harry looked like James. The twins shrugged, throwing more stuff into the trunk. “I’ve got something for you,” he said, holding it out. “It’s a two-way mirror. James and I used to use them when we were in separate detentions. If you need to speak to me, you just have to say my name into it, and we’ll be able to talk.”

“Wow,” Harry breathed, holding the small, square mirror carefully. “Thank you!”

“Yeah, well, try not to get into too much trouble this year,” Sirius said, smiling at them.

“You mean, don’t get caught,” Hermione replied, smiling back. “Can’t get in trouble if you don’t get caught.”

Sirius barked out a loud laugh and shook his head. “You truly are a wonder, Hermione.”

They hugged Remus goodbye before setting off for the ward line where Sirius Apparated them onto the train station. The Hogwarts Express, a gleaming scarlet steam engine, was already there, clouds of steam billowing from it, through which the many Hogwarts students and parents on the platform appeared like dark ghosts. They both turned nervously towards Sirius, never having someone to see them off before, and he looked down at them, a slightly sad look on his face. “I’m just glad that I’m here now to be able to see you two off,” he said. “I can’t imagine how small you must have been in first year. Have a great year, study hard, don’t get caught, give Snivellus hell from me, and call me if you need me. I broke in last year; I’ll do it again if I have to.” Cautiously, they gave him a big hug, the bond humming happily when he hugged them back, before they set off to find a compartment, the thick rain splattering windows and making it hard to see out onto the platform to wave goodbye.

Neville knocked on the door and they waved him in happily. He listened jealously as Harry told him about the World Cup, and then less jealously when they went on to describe all the post-match events. “Gran didn’t want to go,” he explained. “Wouldn’t buy tickets … seeing what happened afterwards, she was glad she hadn’t.” He looked at the twins with a frank look on his face. “Trust you two to be there when it all went down though.”

“We had Sirius with us, we were fine,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand, dragging out one of her textbooks. “Now enough of the Quidditch talk …”

The rain became heavier and heavier as the train moved further north. The sky was so dark and the windows so steamy that the lanterns were lit by midday. The lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Harry bought a large stack of Cauldron Cakes for them to share. Pansy was the next one in to visit, settling down to tell them all about her family’s visit to Paris. She was followed shortly by Ginny, who had also brought Luna. They wiled away the rest of the journey discussing their upcoming classes until the Hogwarts Express slowed down at last, and finally stopped in the pitch-darkness of Hogsmeade station.

As the train doors opened, there was a rumble of thunder overhead, and they all drew their cloaks over their heads nervously as they stepped out of the train, heads bent, and eyes narrowed against the downpour. The rain was now coming down so thick and fast that it was as though buckets of ice-cold water were being emptied repeatedly over their heads.

“Hi, Hagrid!” Harry yelled, seeing a gigantic silhouette at the far end of the platform.

“All righ’, Harry, Hermione?” Hagrid bellowed back, waving. “See yeh at the feast if we don’ drown!” First years traditionally reached Hogwarts castle by sailing across the lake with Hagrid.

< Fuck crossing the lake in this, > Hermione said fervently, shivering as they inched along the dark platform with the rest of the crowd. A hundred horseless carriages stood waiting for them outside the station. Harry helped Hermione and Pansy into one of them, while Neville helped Ginny and Luna. A few moments later, with a great lurch, the long procession of carriages was rumbling and splashing its way up the track towards Hogwarts castle.

-/-

The Great Hall looked its usual splendid self, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed by the light of hundreds and hundreds of candles, floating over the tables in mid-air. The four long house tables were packed with chattering students; at the top of the Hall, the staff sat along one side of a fifth table, facing their pupils. It was much warmer in here, the twins starting to dry off as they took their seats as the Slytherin table. < I am fucking starving, > Harry moaned.

< Forget that, > Hermione said, wringing out her hair. < I just want a really hot shower. I hope they hurry up with the Sorting. >

Harry looked up at the staff table. There seemed to be rather more empty seats there than usual, and he nudged Hermione who looked up. They counted off in their heads – Hagrid was still fighting his way across the lake with the first years, they’d seen Professor McGonagall at the Entrance helping everyone in and … < No new Defence Professor, > they said together. < Maybe they couldn’t get anyone this year, > Hermione continued, scanning the table again. Tiny little Professor Flitwick, the Charms teacher, was sitting on a large pile of cushions beside Professor Sprout, the Herbology teacher, whose hat was askew over her flyaway grey hair. She was talking to Professor Sinistra of the Astronomy department. On Professor Sinistra’s other side was the sallow-faced, hook-nosed, greasy-haired Potions master, Snape. On Snape’s other side was an empty seat, which was Professor McGonagall’s.

Next to it, and in the very centre of the table, sat Professor Dumbledore, the Headmaster, his sweeping silver hair and beard shining in the candlelight, his deep-green robes embroidered with many stars and moons. The tips of Dumbledore’s long, thin fingers were together, and he was resting his chin upon them, staring up at the ceiling through his half-moon spectacles as though lost in thought. The twins glanced up at the ceiling, too. It was enchanted to look like the sky outside, and they had never seen it look this stormy. Black and purple clouds were swirling across it, and as another thunderclap sounded outside, a fork of lightning flashed across it. < What are they gonna do then? > Harry said. < Who’s going to teach Defence? >

Before Hermione could reply, the doors of the Great Hall opened, and silence fell. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of first years up to the top of the Hall. If Harry and Hermione were wet, it was nothing to how these first years looked. They appeared to have swum across the lake rather than sailing. All of them were shivering with a combination of cold and nerves as they filed along the staff table and came to a halt in a line facing the rest of the school. Professor McGonagall now placed a three-legged stool on the ground before the first years and, on top of it, an extremely old, dirty, patched wizard’s hat. The first years stared at it. So did everyone else. For a moment, there was silence. Then a tear near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and the hat broke into song:

_“A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers_

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favourites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

_’Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I’ve never yet been wrong,_

_I’ll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong!”_

The Great Hall rang with applause as the Sorting Hat finished. < What a boring life for a sentient Hat, > Hermione said. < Suppose it spends all year making up the next song. >

Professor McGonagall was now unrolling a large scroll of parchment. “When I call out your name, you will put on the Hat and sit on the stool,” she told the first years. “When the Hat announces your house, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.” She cleared her throat. “Ackerley, Stewart!”

A boy walked forward, visibly trembling from head to foot, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on and sat down on the stool.

“Ravenclaw!” shouted the Hat.

< Imagine how different our lives would be if we were in different houses, > Harry said thoughtfully.

< Mmm, for instances, we’d both be in Azkaban if we’d been sorted into Gryffindor because I would have murdered Ron Weasley in our first year, > Hermione said.

< You really gonna pretend like the Hat didn’t say that Gryffindor would suit you? > Harry jabbed, laughing at his sister’s immediate frown.

< Excuse the fuck out of me, > she snapped back. < It also said it could suit you too. >

< I think we could have had fun in Gryffindor, > Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.

< We could have, > Hermione admitted. < But we’ve spent too long simply trying to survive to be true Gryffindors. I’ll admit it. I’m a bit hard, a bit too focussed on revenge at times, willing to do what it takes. >

< And I love everything about you, Mi, > Harry said, absentmindedly clapping as another student was sorted into Slytherin. < Hufflepuff sounds like a nice house. >

Hermione fixed him with a stare. < Neither of us are nice enough for Hufflepuff. They all hug each other … like a lot! That sounds exhausting. >

< I’m glad we’re in Slytherin, > Harry said, as finally the last student was sorted. Professor McGonagall picked up the Hat and the stool and carried them away.

Professor Dumbledore had got to his feet. He was smiling around at the students, his arms opened wide in welcome. “I have only two words to say you,” he told them, his deep voice echoing around the Hall. “Tuck in.” The empty dishes all filled magically before their eyes. They all rushed to fill their plates while the rain continued to drum heavily against the high, dark windows. Another clap of thunder shook the windows, and the stormy ceiling flashed, illuminating the golden plates on the tables.

When the last puddings had been demolished, and the last crumbs had faded off the plates, leaving them sparkling clean, Albus Dumbledore got to his feet again. The buzz of chatter filling the Hall slowly died down until only the howling wind and pounding rain could be heard. “So!” Dumbledore said, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention while I give out a few notices. Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.” The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched.

He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the Forest in the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. It is also my painful duty to inform you that the inter-house Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

“What?!” Harry gasped, horrified. He looked around at Draco who looked equally appalled. There were low mutters throughout the hall at the announcement.

Dumbledore continued, “This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy – but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts –“

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder, and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black travelling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swivelled towards the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark grey hair, then began to walk up towards the teachers’ table.

A dull clunk echoed through the Hall on his every other step. He reached the end of the top table, turned right and limped heavily towards Dumbledore. Another flash of lightning crossed the ceiling and Hermione gasped over the bond.

The lightning had thrown the man’s face into sharp relief, and it was a face unlike any they had ever seen. It looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces were supposed to look like and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. But it was the man’s eyes that made him even more frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was moving ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye – and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness.

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words they couldn’t hear. He seemed to be making some enquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. The stranger sat down, shook his mane of dark grey hair out of his face, pulled a plate of sausages towards him, raised it to what was left of his nose and sniffed it. He then took a small knife out of his pocket, speared a sausage on the end of it, and began to eat. His normal eye was fixed upon the sausages, but the blue eye was still darting restlessly around in its socket, taking in the Hall and the students.

“May I introduce our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Dumbledore said brightly, into the silence. “Professor Moody.”

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid. Both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody’s bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him.

< What the fuck happened to his face? > Hermione said, still staring at the man, who seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his travelling cloak, pulled out a hip-flash, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and they saw, below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg, ending in a clawed foot.

< And what happened to his leg? > Harry said. < That’s a shit looking prosthesis. >

Dumbledore cleared his throat again. “As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honour of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event which has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.”

“You’re JOKING!” Fred Weasley said loudly. The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke and nearly everyone laughed.

Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. “I am not joking, Mr Weasley,” he said, “though, now you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar –“

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly.

“Er – but maybe this is not the time … no …” said Dumbledore. “Where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament … well, some of you will not know what this Tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued. There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which have been very successful. However, our own Departments of International Magical Co-operation and Magical Games and Sports have decided that the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that, this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.”

“The Heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.” Whispered mutterings broke out around the Hall at that. “Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age – that is to say, seventeen years or older – will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This” – Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words – “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the Tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” His light-blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over the Weasley twins’ mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!”

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed towards the double doors into the Entrance Hall.


	13. First Day Fuckery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

The storm had blown itself out by the following morning, though the ceiling in the Great Hall was still gloomy; heavy clouds of pewter grey swirled overhead as Harry and Hermione examined their new timetables at breakfast. < Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, and Arithmancy, > Harry said. < Fucking hell, that’s a full first day. >

Conversation on the way down to Greenhouse Three centred around the upcoming Tournament, and what senior Slytherins would be putting their name down. It only stopped when Professor Sprout distracted them with the ugliest plants they’d ever seen. Indeed, they looked less like plants than thick black giant slugs, protruding vertically out of the soil. Each was squirming slightly, and had a number of large, shiny swellings upon it, which appeared to be full of liquid.

“Bubotubers,” Professor Sprout told them briskly. “They need squeezing. You will collect the pus –“

“The what?” said Sue Li, sounding revolted.

“Pus, Miss Li, pus,” said Professor Sprout, “and it’s extremely valuable, so don’t waste it. You will collect the pus in these bottles. Wear your dragon-hide gloves, it can do funny things to the skin when undiluted, Bubotuber pus.”

Squeezing the Bubotubers was disgusting, but oddly satisfying. As each swelling was popped, a large amount of thick yellowish green liquid burst forth, which smelled strongly of petrol. They caught it in the bottles as Professor Sprout had indicated, and by the end of the lesson had collected several pints.

“This’ll keep Madam Pomfrey happy,” said Professor Sprout, stoppering the last bottle with a cork. “An excellent remedy for the more stubborn forms of acne, Bubotuber pus. Should stop students resorting to desperate measures to rid themselves of pimples.”

“Like Eloise Midgen,” Daphne laughed. “She tried to curse hers off.”

“Silly girl,” Professor Sprout said, shaking her head. “But Madam Pomfrey fixed her nose back on in the end.”

A booming bell echoed from the castle across the wet grounds, signalling the end of the lesson, and the class separated; the Ravenclaws climbing the stone steps for Charms, and the Slytherins heading in the other direction, down the sloping lawn towards Hagrid’s small wooden cabin, which stood on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Hagrid was standing outside his hut, one hand on the collar of his enormous black boarhound, Fang. There were several open wooden crates on the ground at his feet, and Fang was whimpering and straining at his collar, apparently keen to investigate the contents more closely. As they drew nearer, joined by the Gryffindors, an odd rattling noise reached their ears, punctuated by what sounded like minor explosions.

“Mornin’!” Hagrid said, beaming at Harry and Hermione. “Great lesson today, you won’ want ter miss this – Blast-Ended Skrewts!”

“What?” Hermione said. < What? > she said, turning to Harry. < They’re not in our book, what the hell is he talking about? > Hagrid pointed down into the crates and they all peered in.

“Eurgh!” squealed Lavender Brown, jumping backwards.

Although loath to agree with her on anything, ‘Eurgh’ just about summed up the Blast-Ended Skrewts, in the twins’ opinion. They looked like deformed, shell-less lobsters, horribly pale and slimy-looking, with legs sticking out in very odd places and no visible heads. There were about a hundred of them in each crate, each about six inches long, crawling over each other, bumping blindly into the sides of the boxes. They were giving off a very powerful smell of rotting fish. Every now and then, sparks would fly out of the end of a Skrewt and, with a small _phut_ , it would be propelled forwards several inches.

“On’y jus’ hatched,” Hagrid said proudly, “so yeh’ll be able ter raise ‘em yerselves! Thought we’d make a bit of a project of it!”

“What do they do, Hagrid?” Harry asked nervously.

“Well, tha’s for yers to figure out,” Hagrid said, beaming. “Yers will start jus’ feedin’ ‘em today. Yeh’ll wan’ ter try ‘em on a few diff’rent things – I’ve never had ‘em before, not sure what they’ll go fer – I got ant eggs an’ frog livers an’ a bit o’ grass-snake – just try ‘em out with a bit of each.”

Scrunching up his face, Harry grabbed a squelchy handful of frog liver and dropped it into the crate, trying hard to suppress the suspicion that the whole thing was entirely pointless, because the Skrewts didn’t seem to have mouths. < What the fuck are these things? > he muttered.

< I genuinely don’t know, > Hermione said, < and that fucking worries me. Hagrid, even though I love him, is a fucking menace when it comes to creatures. >

“Ouch!” yelled Dean Thomas, after about ten minutes. “It got me!” Hagrid hurried over to him, looking anxious. “Its end exploded!” Dean said angrily, showing a burn on his hand.

“Ah, yeah, that can happen when they blast off,” Hagrid said, nodding.

“Eurgh,” Tracey Davis said. “What’s the pointy thing on it?”

“Ah, some of ‘em have got stings,” Hagrid said enthusiastically. Everyone quickly withdrew their hands from the crates. “I reckon they’re the males … the females’ve got sorta sucker things on their bellies … I think they might be ter suck blood.”

“Well, I can certainly see why we’re trying to keep them alive,” Malfoy said sarcastically. “Who wouldn’t want pets that can burn, sting, and bite all at once?”

< Gods, he’s fucking right, > Hermione said. < The best thing to do would be to stamp on the lot of them before they start attacking us all. >

< At least they’re still small, > Harry said as they headed back up to the castle.

< Yeah, they are now, > Hermione said. < It won’t take Hagrid too long to figure out what they eat … then they’ll fucking be like six feet long. >

-/-

Malfoy decided to pick a fight with Weasley as they entered the Great Hall for dinner that night. "Weasley, hey Weasley!" he called. 

“What?” Ron said shortly.

“Your dad’s in the paper, Weasley!” Malfoy laughed, brandishing a copy of the Daily Prophet, and speaking very loudly, so that everyone in the packed Entrance Hall could hear. “Listen to this!”

_FURTHER MISTAKES AT THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC_

_It seems as though the Ministry of Magic’s troubles are not yet at an end,_ writes Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent. _Recently under fire for its poor crowd control at the Quidditch World Cup, and still unable to account for the disappearance of one of its witches, the Ministry_ _was plunged into fresh embarrassment yesterday by the antics of Arnold Weasley, of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office._ _Arnold Weasley, who was charged with possession of a flying car two years ago, was yesterday involved with a tussle with several Muggle law-keepers (‘policemen’) over a number of highly aggressive dustbins. Mr Weasley appears to have rushed to the aid of ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody, the aged ex-Auror who retired from the Ministry when no longer able to tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder. Unsurprisingly, Mr Weasley found, upon arrival at Mr Moody’s heavily guarded house, that Mr Moody had once again_ _raised a false alarm. Mr Weasley was forced to modify several memories before he could escape from the policemen but refused to answer Daily Prophet questions about why he had involved the Ministry in such an undignified and potentially embarrassing scene._

Everyone in the Entrance Hall was listening now, and several people were loudly laughing. “Imagine them not even getting his name right, Weasley, it’s almost as though he’s a complete nonentity, isn’t it?” Draco mocked.

Ron was shaking with fury, his face and ears turning bright red, and had plunged his hand into his robes to try and find his wand.

< Gods, he wouldn’t know what to do with a real problem, > Hermione said, rolling her eyes and turning away. < And Draco is fucking shit at bullying … come on people, move. I want dinner. > She tried to shove through the crowds into the Hall when there was a loud BANG!

Several people screamed and the twins whirled around as a second loud BANG and a roar echoed through the Entrance Hall. With everyone now properly panicked, there was a mass shove into the Hall to escape whatever was happening.

“OH NO YOU DON’T, LADDIE!”

Hermione looked up to see Professor Moody limping down the marble staircase. His wand was out, and it was pointing right at a pure white ferret, which was shivering on the stone-flagged floor, exactly where Malfoy had been standing. < Is that … is that Draco? > she whispered.

< What the fuck is going on? > Harry said, frozen as Moody approached the ferret, which gave a terrified squeak and took off, streaking towards the dungeons.

“I don’t think so!” roared Moody, pointing his wand at the ferret again – it flew ten feet into the air, fell with a smack to the floor, and then bounced upwards once more. “I don’t like people who attack when their opponent had turned their back,” Moody growled, as the ferret bounced higher and higher, squealing in pain. “Stinking, cowardly, scummy thing to do …”

The ferret flew through the air, its legs and tail flailing helplessly. < What do we do? > Harry said, his eyes following the ferret up and down.

< Against this proper psycho? > Hermione said. < Pray he doesn’t turn his attention to us. You’re the one who likes to not fight … I’m openly advocating for it this time. >

“Never – do – that again – “ Moody said, speaking each word as the ferret hit the stone floor and bounced upwards again.

“Professor Moody!” came a shocked voice. Professor McGonagall was coming down the marble staircase with her arms full of books.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” Moody said calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher.

“What – what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes also following the bouncing ferret’s progress through the air.

“Teaching,” Moody said simply.

“Teach – Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms.

“Yep,” said Moody.

“No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing.

“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” Professor McGonagall said weakly. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?”

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” Moody said, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock –“

< Oh wow, he’s like … properly a psycho, > Harry said in shock.

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!”

“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike.

Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words ‘my father’ were distinguishable.

“Oh yeah?” Moody said quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy … you tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son … you tell him that from me … now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?”

“Yes,” Malfoy said resentfully.

“Another old friend,” Moody growled. “I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape … come on, you …” And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off towards the dungeons. Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms.

Harry and Hermione remained frozen as the Entrance Hall emptied of people. < So where do we think he stands amongst the peacock, the possessed by Voldemort, and the werewolf? > Harry said conversationally. < Obviously, the werewolf is the best, given that he’s currently like living in our house. >

< An old friend … > Hermione said thoughtfully. < He’s an ex-Auror … he must know they’re both Death Eaters. >

< He just transfigured someone into a fucking ferret and bounced them off the ceiling, > Harry said. < Fucking hell, not even Quirrell did shit like that … did you hear the article that Draco read out? He can’t tell the difference between a handshake and attempted murder … and we’re supposed to have class with this guy? >


	14. Moody Madness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First lessons with Moody
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

It was with great trepidation that the Slytherin fourth years approached their first lesson with Moody the next day. After a group meeting, it was decided that the students with known Death Eater connections would sit at the back of the class. This unfortunately meant that Harry and Hermione were sat right at the front of the class, in the hopes of diverting unwanted attention away from others. < So instead we get to have the unwanted attention, > Harry muttered, taking his seat right in front of the teacher’s desk, waiting nervously. Soon they heard Moody’s distinctive clunking footsteps coming down the corridor, and he entered the room, looking as strange and frightening as ever, his clawed wooden foot protruding from underneath his robes.

“You can put those away,” he growled, stumping over to his desk and sitting down, “those books. You won’t need them.” The class returned the books to their bags slowly, trying to not show any signs of nervousness.

Moody took out a register, shook his long mane of grizzled grey hair out of his twisted and scarred face and began to call out names, his normal eye moving steadily down the list while his magical eye swivelled around, fixing upon each student as he or she answered. “Right then,” he said, when the last person had declared themselves present, “I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a pretty thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures – you’ve covered Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, Grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that right?” There was a general murmur of assent. “But you’re behind – very behind – on dealing with curses,” Moody said. “So I’m here to bring you up to scratch on what wizards can do to each other. I’ve got one year to teach you how to deal with Dark curses. Just the one year, as a special favour to Dumbledore … and then back to my quiet retirement.” He gave a harsh laugh and then clapped his gnarled hands together.

< Quiet retirement? > Harry said. < He attacked a bunch of policemen literally less than a week ago. >

“So – straight into it. Curses. They come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you counter-curses and leave it at that. I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year. You’re not supposed to be old enough to deal with it ’til then. But Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves, he reckons you can cope, and I say, the sooner you know what you’re up against, the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself against something you’ve never seen? A wizard who’s about to put an illegal curse on you isn’t going to tell you what he’s about to do. He’s not going to do it nice and polite to your face. You need to be prepared. You need to be alert and watchful. So … do any of you know which curses are most heavily punished by wizarding law?”

There was a loud silence before Hermione begrudgingly put her hand up. Moody nodded at her. “The Imperius Curse,” she said.

“Ah, yes,” Moody said appreciatively. “I’m sure many people in this room have heard of that particular one. Gave the Ministry a lot of trouble at one time, the Imperius Curse.” He got heavily to his mismatched feet, opened his desk drawer, and took out a glass jar. Three large, black spiders were scuttling around inside it. Moody reached into the jar, caught one of the spiders and held it in the palm of his hand so that they could all see it.

_“Imperio!”_ he muttered, pointing his wand at it. The spider leapt from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing backwards and forwards as though on a trapeze. It stretched out its legs rigidly, then did a backflip, breaking the thread and landing on the desk, where it began to cartwheel in circles. Moody jerked his wand, and the spider rose onto two of its hind legs and went into what was unmistakeably a tap dance. A few people started to laugh at the sight.

“Think it’s funny, do you?” Moody growled. “You’d like it, would you, if I did it to you?” The laughter died away almost instantly. “Total control,” he said quietly, as the spider balled itself up and began to roll over and over. “I could make it jump out of the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats …” He glared around the classroom, his blue eye spinning madly. “Years back, there were a lot of witches and wizards being controlled by the Imperius Curse. Some job for the Ministry, trying to sort out who was being forced to act, and who was acting of their own free will … The Imperius Curse can be fought, and I’ll be teaching you how, but it takes real strength of character, and not everyone’s got it. Better avoid being hit with it if you can. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barked, and everyone jumped.

Moody picked up the somersaulting spider and threw it back into the jar. “Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?”

Moody waited until someone other than Hermione finally put their hand up. “Yes?” he said, his magical eye rolling right over to fix on Pansy.

“There’s the Cruciatus Curse,” Pansy said in a high voice.

Moody nodded and reached into the jar for the next spider and placed it upon the desktop, where it remained motionless. “The Cruciatus Curse,” Moody said. “Needs to be a bit bigger for you to get the idea,” he said, pointing his wand at the spider. _“Engorgio!”_ The spider swelled, now larger than a tarantula. He raised his wand again and muttered _, “Crucio!”_

At once, the spider’s legs bent in upon its body; it rolled over and began to twitch horribly, rocking from side to side. No sound came from it, but Harry was sure that if it could have given voice, it would have been screaming. Moody did not remove his wand and the spider started to shudder and jerk more violently. Both twins held their breath as the spider continued to jerk until finally Moody raised his wand. The spider’s legs relaxed but it continued to twitch.

“Pain,” Moody said softly. “You don’t need thumbscrews or knives to torture someone if you can perform the Cruciatus Curse … that one was very popular once, too … right, anyone know any others?”

Taking a deep breath in, both twins put their hands up, the bond starting to throb between them. “Yes?” Moody said, looking down at them.

_“Avada Kedavra,”_ they whispered together. A soft shudder went through everyone else in the room.

“Ah,” Moody said, a slight smile twisting his lop-sided mouth. “Yes, the last and worst. _Avada Kedavra_ … the killing curse. You two **would** know it.” He put his hand into the glass jar, the third spider scuttling frantically trying to evade Moody’s fingers, but he trapped it and placed it upon the desktop. The bond sent a wave of foreboding through both of them as Moody raised his wand. _“Avada Kedavra!”_ he roared.

There was a flash of blinding green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air – instantaneously the spider rolled over onto its back, unmarked, but unmistakeably dead. Several of the girls stifled cries but the twins remained completely silent and frozen as Moody swept the dead spider off the desk onto the floor.

“Not nice,” he said calmly. “Not pleasant. And there’s no counter-curse. There’s no blocking it, there’s no stopping it. There are only two people in the world to have ever survived it, and they’re sitting right in front of me.” Neither twin moved as Moody stared down at them, his magical blue eye spinning. They could feel everyone else looking around at them too. “Avada Kedavra’s a curse that needs a powerful bit of magic behind it – you could all get your wands out now and point them at me and say the words, but I doubt I’d get so much as a nose-bleed. But that doesn’t matter. I’m not here to teach you how to do it. Now, if there’s no counter-curse, why am I showing you? Because you’ve got to know! You’ve got to appreciate what the worst it. You don’t want to find yourself in a situation where you’re facing it. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he roared, and the whole class jumped again.

“Now … those three curses – Avada Kedavra, Imperius and Cruciatus – are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practise constant, never-ceasing vigilance. Get out your quills … copy this down …” They spent the rest of the lesson taking notes on each of the Unforgivable Curses. No-one spoke and when the bell rang, they silently left the classroom and headed back to the Common Room.

< He is right, you know, > Hermione said, breaking the silence from the lesson. < We do need to know what we’re facing. >

< He smiled when we told him the Killing Curse, > Harry said flatly. < I know we need to know, but ... there’s something not right about him … >

-/-

Next lesson, to their surprise, Professor Moody had announced that he would be putting the Imperius Curse on each of them in turn, to demonstrate its power and to see whether they could resist it effects.

“But – but you said it’s illegal, Professor,” Tracey said uncertainly, as Moody cleared away the desks with a sweep of his wand, leaving a large clear space in the middle room. “You said – to use it against another …”

“Dumbledore wants you taught what it feels like,” Moody said, his magical eye swivelling onto Tracey and fixing her with an eerie, unblinking stare. “If you’d rather learn the hard way – when someone’s putting it on you so they can control you completely – fine by me. You’re excused. Off you go.” Tracey went pink and shuffled to the back of the class but didn’t leave.

Moody began to beckon students forwards in turn and put the Imperius Curse upon them. The twins watched as, one by one, their classmates did the most extraordinary things under its influence. Tracey Davis sang the start of an opera, Greg Goyle did two backflips, while Draco Malfoy imitated a rooster. Not one of them seemed to be able to fight the curse off, and each of them recovered only when Moody had removed it.

“Potter,” Moody growled, “you next.”

Trading glances, Hermione decided she’d go first for a change, and moved forward into the middle of the classroom, into the space that Moody had cleared of desks. < Be with me, > she said softly, as Moody raised his wand and pointed it at her, and said, _“Imperio!”_

A wonderful, floating sensation soaked into her, removing every worry, leaving nothing but a vague, untraceable happiness. She stood there feeling immensely relaxed, only dimly aware of everyone watching her. The bond was still there but seemed oddly muted, her brother’s voice echoing faintly. And then, more clearly, she heard Mad-Eye Moody’s voice coming through: _Jump onto the desk … jump onto the desk …_

Before she realised it, she’d bent her knees obediently, preparing to spring. She blindly groped for the bond, reaching out for the familiar calm of the bright green, and eased down it slightly, hearing Harry’s voice get louder as she did. < I don’t want to jump onto the desk, > she mumbled, trying to clear away the blissful feeling.

< Come here, Mi, > Harry said, pulling her further down the bond. Focussing on the bond, she clenched her hands into fists and dug her nails in, using pain to clear away the last of the floating feeling the spell had placed her in. Furiously, she straightened her legs again, locking her knees and standing defiantly.

“Now, that’s more like it,” growled Moody’s voice, and the floating feeling disappeared entirely. He stared at Hermione in wonder, his magical blue eye scanning her up and down. “How did you do that? Look at that, everyone … she fought it off! Let’s try your brother then, shall we? You lot, pay attention – watch their eyes.”

< Pain, Me Me, > she said, as Harry took her place in the centre of the room. < Pain and the bond. >

Harry wasted no time, digging his fingernails in immediately and half-entering the bond just as Moody cast the spell. The same blissful emptiness enveloped him, all his worries washed away. < Gods, you can see why people give in, > he muttered. < This is a really nice feeling. > He became acutely aware of Moody’s voice now echoing, but it wasn’t as loud as it’d been for Hermione. _Lie on the floor and slither like a snake._ He snorted out loud, staying resolutely still, focussing on Hermione’s voice and ignoring Moody, until he finally released the spell and the blissful feeling vanished.

Moody was staring at both of them quietly and Harry realised that the rest of the class was also staring at them. < I didn’t do it, did I? > he said, unsure of where to look.

< No, you just stood there, > Hermione replied. Nothing had looked different to her, but the rest of the class had noticed what they hadn’t. Both their eyes had glowed even brighter until they were an eerie bright green as they’d fought off the spell.

“They’ll have trouble controlling you two,” Moody growled, hiding his unsettledness. “You can see it, in your eyes. I’ve never seen someone fight it off so well the first time …”


	15. Beauxbatons and Durmstrang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone commenting and leaving kudos - love you all lots, they feed my soul. 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

They were coming back from Care of Magical Creatures – where the Blast-Ended Skrewts were growing at a remarkable pace, given that nobody had yet discovered what they are – when they found themselves unable to proceed any further through the Entrance Hall owing to the large crowd of students congregated there, all milling around a large sign which had been erected at the foot of the marble staircase. They all glanced at each other before Pansy snapped at Blaise, the tallest of them all, to see what was going on. Hermione quietly sulked over her short stature while Blaise stood on tiptoe to see over the heads in front of them and read the sign aloud to the group.

 _TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early._ _Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast._

“Only a week away!” Ernie MacMillan of Hufflepuff said, emerging from the crowd, his eyes gleaming. “I wonder if Cedric knows? Think I’ll go and tell him …”

“Eurgh, no,” Pansy said. “We can’t have that idiot as Hogwarts champion.”

“Agreed,” Harry said, scowling as he remembered Cedric’s father, pushing his way through the chattering crowd towards the Great Hall.

The appearance of the sign in the Entrance Hall had a marked effect upon the inhabitants of the castle. During the following week, there seemed to be only one topic of conversation, no matter where the twins went: the Triwizard Tournament. Rumours were flying from student to student like highly contagious germs: who was going to try for Hogwarts champion, what the Tournament would involve, how the students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang different from themselves. They noticed, too, that the castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armour were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any student who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

The night before they were all due to arrive, Harry and Hermione gathered in the trunk and mirror-called Sirius for the first time. < We’re really terrible godchildren, > Harry muttered. < Like everyone else talks to their parents weekly … should we tell him we kinda forgot? >

< Gods, no, > Hermione said. < That’ll make him feel worse. Just don’t mention it … we are terrible, though. >

Sirius’ face came smiling through the mirror. “Hey Moony,” he called, turning his head and shouting down the corridor. “It’s the twins, come say hi.” He turned back to them. “Hey! How are things? How are classes? What’s the news?”

Harry launched into a winding story of how classes were going, what on earth Hagrid was thinking with the Skrewts, and a long complaint about there not being any Quidditch which led into a discussion about the Triwizard Tournament. It was only when Harry started describing how they’d fought off the Imperius Curse that Sirius frowned.

“It worries me that Dumbledore has got Mad-Eye out of retirement,” he said. “Mad-Eye was the best Auror the Ministry had, half the cells in Azkaban are full because of him and he’s got a lot of enemies as a result of that … what is Dumbledore seeing, in order to make Mad-Eye come and teach at Hogwarts … he must be reading the same signs that we are …” He trailed off and looked pensively at Remus.

“What?” Hermione said flatly. “I know you two can’t talk telepathically, but that gaze is currently doing a lot of talking.”

“We met with Narcissa,” Sirius said.

“Lady Malfoy?” Harry said. “… oh, because of the events at the World Cup. Is she alright?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him. “Lady Malfoy,” she mocked in a high-pitched drawl. < Try to control your mummy issues, brother. > Harry sent her a big zap over the bond in retaliation that caused her to jump.

“Shut up,” Harry said. “What happened?”

“They were Death Eaters,” Sirius began, “at the World Cup … the ones marching and levitating those Muggles.” He made a face before continuing. “Pains me to say it, but Lucius Malfoy has been loyal to you two … he didn’t know what was going to happen at the World Cup. He’d been sent a message from one of his old contacts but hadn’t responded to it … they took a dim view on that and lured them both out after the match with some high-society bullshit … it also confirms that the Death Eaters at the World Cup were not acting on Voldemort’s orders. They all Disapparated the moment the Dark Mark appeared in the sky, which is the only reason Lucius and Narcissa escaped.”

Harry and Hermione were both openly gaping at Sirius when he finished the tale. “Does Draco know?” Hermione said.

Sirius shook his head. “They didn’t want to worry him at the time,” he said. “I told them that was foolish, that it meant he wouldn’t be able to protect himself if he didn’t know … I believe they've since told him, thankfully.”

< We have to make sure he knows, > Harry said. < What if someone tries to attack him at school? >

They finished the call soon after, promising to call after the Triwizard champions were announced, and sat on the floor of the trunk staring at each other, both absentmindedly petting their snakes.

-/-

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts house – red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teachers’ table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger and snake united around a large letter ‘H’. There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air throughout that day. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang; even Potions was more bearable than usual, as it was half an hour shorter.

When the bell rang early, everyone hurried back to their Common Rooms to deposit their bags and grab their cloaks, before rushing back downstairs to the Entrance Hall. The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines. They filed down the front steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling, and a pale, transparent-looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Harry and Hermione were in the fourth row from the front with the rest of their Slytherin cohort. They scanned the darkening grounds excitedly, but nothing was moving; everything was still, silent and quite as usual. Hermione was starting to feel cold, and wished they’d hurry up. < No doubt they’ve got to have a dramatic entrance, > she moaned, stamping her feet to try and warm up.

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row, where he stood with the other teachers. “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

“Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

“There!” yelled a sixth year, pointing over the Forest. Something large, much larger than a broomstick – or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks – was hurtling across the deep blue sky towards the castle, growing larger all the time.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

“Don’t be stupid … it’s a flying house!” said another first year. Their guess was closer … as the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powder- blue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring towards them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. The front three rows of students drew backwards as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming to land at a tremendous speed – then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backwards onto a fifth year’s foot – the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes. They just had time to see that the door of the carriage bore a coat of arms (two crossed, golden wands, each emitting three stars) before it opened.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forwards, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Then the twins saw a shining, high-heeled black shoe emerging from the inside of the carriage – a shoe the size of a child’s sled – followed, almost immediately, by the largest woman they had ever seen in their life. The size of the carriage, and of the horses, was immediately explained. A few people gasped. The twins had only ever seen one person as large as this woman in their life, and that was Hagrid; they doubted whether there was an inch difference in their heights. Yet somehow – maybe simply because they were used to Hagrid – this woman (now at the foot of the steps, and looking around at the waiting, wide-eyed crowd) seemed even more unnaturally large. As she stepped into the light flooding from the Entrance Hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face, large, black, liquid-looking eyes and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.

Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile, and she walked forwards towards Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it. “My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr” said Madame Maxime, in a deep voice. “I ’ope I find you well?”

“On excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.

“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her. Harry and Hermione, whose attention had been focused completely upon Madame Maxime, now noticed that around a dozen boys and girls – all, by the look of them, in their late teens – had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few of them had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads. From what the twins could see of their faces (they were standing in Madame Maxime’s enormous shadow), they were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

“’As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.

“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ’orses –“

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation which has arisen with some of his other – er – charges.”

A bunch of the Slytherin fourth years snorted. “No doubt those accursed Skrewts,” Draco muttered.

“Maybe they’ve escaped, and we never have to see them again,” Pansy sighed.

“Oh, gods no!” Harry said. “Then we’d just get attacked randomly on the grounds. I hope they’ve all eaten each other, or spontaneously caught alight and died.”

“My steeds require – er – forceful ’andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong …”

“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

“Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly, “will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink only single-malt whisky?”

“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.

“Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

They stood, shivering slightly now, waiting for the Durmstrang party to arrive. Most people were gazing hopefully up at the sky. For a few minutes, the silence was broken only by Madame Maxime’s huge horses snorting and stamping. But then –

“Can you hear something?” said Theo suddenly. Everyone listened; a loud and oddly eerie noise was drifting towards them from out of the darkness; a muffled rumbling and sucking sound, as though an immense vacuum cleaner was moving along a riverbed …

“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!”

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water – except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the centre; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks – and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor … What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool … and then the twins saw the rigging … “It’s a mast!” Harry said to the other Slytherins. Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it was a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide towards the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank.

People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes passing the lights in the ship’s portholes. All of them, Harry noticed, seemed to be built along the lines of Crabbe and Goyle … but then, as they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the Entrance Hall, he saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur. But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort; sleek and silver, like his hair.

“Dumbledore!” he called heartily, as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle, they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own. “Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, and Hermione noticed that his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. “How good it is to be here, how good … Viktor, come along, into the warmth … you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold …” Karkaroff beckoned forwards one of his students. As the boy passed, Harry caught a glimpse of a prominent, curved nose and thick black eyebrows and gasped.

< Mi, it’s Krum! Victor Krum! > he exclaimed.

< Oh fuck no, > Hermione groaned. < I thought I was gonna get a whole year without Quidditch. > Harry wasn’t even paying attention, avidly staring after Krum, as was half of the school. Several sixth-year girls were frantically searching their pockets as they walked – “Oh, I don’t believe it, I haven’t got a single quill on me –“ “D’you think he’d sign my hat in lipstick?”

Hermione thought her eyes were going to roll right out of her head as she dragged Harry into the castle. They walked over to the Slytherin table and sat down, and Harry and the rest of the boys stuck their heads together to discuss Krum and his Quidditch career. The students from Beauxbatons had chosen seats at the Ravenclaw table. They were looking around the Great Hall with glum expressions on their faces. Three of them were still clutching scarves and shawls around their heads.

“It’s not that cold,” said Pansy irritably, who was watching them. “Why didn’t they bring cloaks?” Hermione laughed along with Pansy, before realising that the Durmstrang students had settled themselves at their table. Harry looked like he couldn’t believe his luck as Krum sat down a few seats away from him, jabbing Hermione several times excitedly over the bond. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his mouldy old tailcoat in honour of the occasion. Hermione was surprised to see that he added four chairs, two on either side of Dumbledore’s. < But there are only two extra people, > Hermione said. < Why’s Filch putting out four chairs? Who else is coming? >

< What? > Harry said vaguely. Hermione tossed her hair and scowled at him.

When all the students had entered the Hall and settled down at their house tables, the staff entered, filing up to the top table and taking their seats. Last in line were Professor Dumbledore, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime. When their Headmistress appeared, the pupils from Beauxbatons leapt to their feet. A few of the Hogwarts students laughed. The Beauxbatons party appeared quite unembarrassed and did not resume their seats until Madame Maxime had sat down on Dumbledore’s left-hand side. Dumbledore, however, remained standing, and a silence fell over the Great Hall.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and – most particularly – guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakeably a derisive laugh. “No one’s making you stay, bitch,” Hermione whispered, causing Pansy and Daphne to erupt into quiet giggles again.

“The Tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!” He sat down, and Hermione saw Karkaroff lean forward at once and engage him in conversation.

The dishes in front of them filled with food as usual. The house-elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than the twins had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign. < What the fuck is half of this? > Harry said, eyeing off all the different food. The Great Hall seemed somehow much more crowded than usual, even though there were barely twenty additional students there; perhaps it was because their differently coloured uniforms stood out so clearly against the black of the Hogwarts robes. Now that they had removed their furs, the Durmstrang students were revealed to be wearing robes of a deep, blood red.

Hagrid sidled into the Hall through a door behind the staff table twenty minutes after the start of the feast. He slid into his seat at the end and waved at Harry and Hermione with a very heavily bandaged hand. < Oh good, > Hermione said. < They’ve finally found a food they like … Hagrid’s fingers. > Harry choked with laughter on his steak and kidney pie, and Hermione had to pound him on the back several times.

At that moment, a voice said, “Excuse me, are you wanting ze bouillabaisse?” It was the girl from Beauxbatons who had laughed during Dumbledore’s speech. She had finally removed her muffler. A long sheet of silvery blonde hair fell almost to her waist. She had large, deep blue eyes, and very white, even teeth.

One look at her and Hermione promptly dragged Harry across the bond and into her mind as the girl smiled at everyone at the table. Several of the boys blushed so hard they went purple. < She’s Veela, or at least part, > Hermione whispered in their shared mind.

Harry smiled back at the girl and pushed the dish towards her. “Yeah, have it,” he said, and turned back to face his sister, missing the frown that went across the girl’s face. As the girl crossed the Hall, many boys’ and a few girls’ heads turned, and some of them seemed to have become temporarily speechless, just like half the Slytherin boys had.

Harry slid back into his own mind just as the two empty seats were filled. Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff’s other side, while Mr Crouch, Percy’s boss, was next to Madame Maxine. < Oh, gods no, > he said. < One useless idiot, and one complete dickhead. What are they doing here? >

< They organised the Tournament, I guess, > Hermione said grumpily, openly staring with loathing at Mr Crouch.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Harry and Hermione felt a slight thrill of excitement, wondering what was coming.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket, just to clarify the procedure which we will be following this year. But firstly, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation” – there was a smattering of polite applause – “and Mr Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.” There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likeable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

“Mr Bagman and Mr Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime on the panel which will judge the champions’ efforts.”

At the mention of the word ‘champions’, the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr Filch.” Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore, carrying a great wooden chest, encrusted with jewels. It looked extremely old. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students. “The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman,” said Dumbledore, as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways … their magical prowess – their daring – their powers of deduction – and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.” At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing. “As you know, three champions compete in the Tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector … the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it, and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable, had it not been full to the brim with dancing, blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the Goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment, and drop it into the Goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow night, Hallowe’en, the Goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The Goblet will be placed in the Entrance Hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete. To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the Entrance Hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line. Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this Tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the Tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the Goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are whole-heartedly prepared to play, before you drop your name into the Goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Goodnight to you all.”

Everyone got up and slowly started to head towards the dungeons. The Durmstrang students all stood and gathered as Karkaroff bustled up to them. “Back to the ship, then,” he said. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?” The twins watched silently as Krum shook his head, pulling his furs back on.

“Professor, I vood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

“I wasn’t offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karakroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy –“

< Mmm, smell that? > Hermione said, as they tried to make their way through the crowd. < The smell of favouritism. Fuck that, at least we don’t get that shit much here at Hogwarts. >

< I wish Snape would show a bit of favouritism, the git, > Harry said, stepping out of the way as Karkaroff marched his students towards the door.

“Thank you,” Karkaroff said carelessly, glancing at them, and then immediately freezing, staring at both of them as though he couldn’t believe his eyes.

< I dare you to yell BOO really loudly, > Hermione joked, as everyone came to a halt behind Karkaroff who was still frozen, his eyes glancing between their scars. Following their Headmaster’s eyes, the Durmstrang students were now also staring curiously at the twins. Harry saw comprehension dawn on a few of their faces, some of them pointing openly at their foreheads.

< How about fuck off? > Harry said.

“Yeah, that’s Harry and Hermione Potter,” said a growling voice from behind them. “The Twins-Who-Lived, in the flesh!”

Professor Karkaroff spun around. Mad-Eye Moody was standing there, leaning heavily on his staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang Headmaster.

The colour immediately drained from Karkaroff’s face and a terrible look of mingled fury and fear came over his face. “You!” he said, staring at Moody as though unsure he was really seeing him. Everyone around was swivelling back and forth between the two men.

“Me,” Moody said grimly. “And unless you’ve got anything to say to the Potter twins, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You’re blocking the doorway.”

Without another word, Professor Karkaroff swept his students away with him. Moody watched him out of sight, his magical eye fixed upon his back, a look of intense dislike upon his mutilated face. < He must be a Death Eater, > Hermione breathed, also watching the Durmstrang Headmaster disappear into the distance.

< Fucking fantastic, > Harry said. < Another person to have constant vigilance around. >


	16. The Goblet of Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ....... the goblet is ready 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Sound off below, I love all your comments

The next day – Saturday and also Halloween – Harry and Hermione made their way into the Great Hall for breakfast to find it already nearly full, many people having risen much earlier than usual in order to watch the Goblet. The decorations in the Great Hall had changed that morning; as it was Hallowe’en, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner. There were around twenty people milling around the Goblet of Fire, all examining it closely. It had been placed in the centre of the hall on the stool that normally bore the Sorting Hat. A thin golden line had been traced on the floor, forming a circle ten feet around it in every direction.

“Anyone put their name in yet?” Harry asked Draco as they sat down at the table.

“All the Durmstrang lot,” he replied. “But I haven’t seen anyone from Hogwarts yet … I heard Warrington is going to put his name in.”

“Bet some of them put it in last night after everyone had gone to bed,” Harry said. “That’s what we would have done … wouldn’t have wanted everyone watching.” He grabbed some eggs just as there was a loud commotion near the entrance, and Fred and George burst in, both looking very excited, and rushing towards the Goblet. < What the fuck? > Harry frowned. < They’re not of age yet. >

Hermione craned her neck to watch Fred walk right up to the edge of the line, standing there and rocking on his toes like a diver preparing for a fifty-foot drop. < Aging potion, maybe? Although I can’t see that fooling the Age Line. > Then, with the eyes of every person in the Entrance Hall upon him, he took a great breath and stepped over the line.

For a split second, Harry and Hermione thought it had somehow worked – George certainly thought so, for he let out a yell of triumph and leapt after Fred – but next moment, there was a loud sizzling sound, and both twins were hurled out of the golden circle as though they had been thrown by an invisible shot-putter. They landed painfully, ten feet away on the cold stone floor, and to add insult to injury, there was a loud popping noise, and both of them sprouted identical, long white beards. Harry and Hermione burst into laughter along with the rest of Hall, Fred and George eventually joining in, as they took a good look at each other’s beards.

“I did warn you,” came Professor Dumbledore’s voice, his eyes twinkling as he surveyed Fred and George. “I suggest you both go up to Madam Pomfrey. She is already tending to Miss Fawcett and Mr Summers, both of whom decided to age themselves up a little, too. Thought I must say, neither of their beards is anything like as fine as yours.”

As they finished off their breakfast, the students from Beauxbatons came through the front doors. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly. Madame Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organised them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks.

Pushing his plate away, Harry stood up and headed over to the Gryffindor table. < I just wanna see if Neville wants to come visit Hagrid with us, > he replied to Hermione’s indignant question mark.

“Want to come and visit Hagrid?” Hermione said, in response to Draco’s raised eyebrow.

“You **must** be joking,” he said. “I see enough of those disgusting creatures during class.”

-/-

They walked past the Beauxbatons’ gigantic powder-blue carriage as they neared Hagrid’s cabin on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it. Eyeing off the massive horses, Harry knocked on Hagrid’s door, Fang immediately barking loudly back at him.

“’Bout time!” Hagrid said, when he’d flung open the door and seen who was knocking. “Thought you lot’d forgotten where I live!”

“We’ve been really busy, Hag-“ Harry started to say, stopping dead at the sight of Hagrid. < What the fuck is this? > Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie. This wasn’t the worst of it, though; he had evidently tried to tame his hair, using large quantities of what appeared to be axle grease. It was now slicked down into two bunches. The look didn’t really suit Hagrid at all. For a moment, they all goggled at him, before Harry tried to valiantly continue on as though nothing had happened, “Erm … where are the Skrewts?”

“Out by the pumpkin patch,” Hagrid said happily. “They’re getting’ massive, mus’ be nearly three feet long now. On’y trouble is, they’ve started killin’ each other.”

Harry tried his best to look upset by this, although suspected he’d completely failed. Neville was still rendered completely speechless by Hagrid’s appearance.

“Yeah,” Hagrid said sadly, in response to their attempts to look upset. “’S’OK, though, I’ve got ‘em in separate boxes now. Still got abou’ twenty.”

“Oh, well, thank the gods then,” Hermione said, the sarcasm practically dripping from her mouth.

Hagrid’s cabin comprised a single room, in one corner of which was a gigantic bed covered in a patchwork quilt. A similarly enormous wooden table and chairs stood in front of the fire, beneath the quantity of cured hams and dead birds hanging from the ceiling. They sat down at the table while Hagrid started to make tea and were soon immersed in yet more discussion of the Triwizard Tournament. Hagrid seemed quite as excited about it as they were.

“You wait,” he said, grinning. “You jus’ wait. Yer going ter see some stuff yeh’ve never seen before. Firs’ task … ah, but I’m not supposed ter say.”

“Go on, Hagrid!” Harry urged him, but he just shook his head, grinning.

“I don’ want ter spoil it fer yeh,” said Hagrid. “But it’s gonna be spectacular, I’ll tell yeh that. Them champions’re going ter have their work cut out!”

They ended up having lunch with Hagrid, who had made what he said was a beef casserole. < Not to turn down food literally ever in my whole life, > Hermione said, < but there is literally a talon in this. > She subtly showed it to Harry who almost gagged before quickly feeding the pie to Fang when Hagrid wasn’t looking. They spent the rest of the time enjoying themselves trying to make Hagrid tell them what the tasks in the Tournament were going to be, speculating which of the entrants were likely to be selected as champions, and wondering whether Fred and George were beardless yet. A light rain had started to fall by mid-afternoon; it was very cosy sitting by the fire, listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the window, watching Hagrid darning his socks and talking about the Summer holidays.

By half past five it was growing dark, and Hermione decided it was time to get back up to the castle for the Hallowe’en feast – and, more importantly, the announcement of the school champions.

“I’ll come with yehs,” said Hagrid, putting away his darning. “Jus’ give us a sec.” Hagrid got up, went across to the chest of drawers beside his bed and began searching for something inside it. They didn’t pay too much attention, until a truly horrible smell reached their nostrils.

Coughing, Neville said, “Hagrid … umm, what is that?”

“Eh?” said Hagrid, turning around with a large bottle in his hand. “Don’ yeh like it?”

“Oh no,” Neville said in a high voice, “no, it’s great.”

“It’s - er – eau-de-Cologne,” Hagrid muttered. He was blushing. “Maybe it’s a bit much,” he said gruffly. “I’ll go take it off, hang on …”

He stumped out of the cabin, and they saw him washing himself vigorously in the water barrel outside the window. “Eau-de-Cologne?” said Hermione in amazement. < What the hell is going on? >

“He’s leaving us,” Neville said indignantly, pointing out the window.

Hagrid had just straightened up and turned around. If he had been blushing before, it was nothing to what he was doing now. Getting to their feet very cautiously, so that Hagrid wouldn’t spot them, Harry, Neville, and Hermione peered through the window and saw that Madame Maxime and the Beauxbatons students had just emerged from their carriage, clearly about to set off for the feast, too. They couldn’t hear what Hagrid was saying, but he was talking to Madame Maxime with a rapt, misty-eyed expression Harry had only ever seen him wear once before – when he had been looking at the baby dragon, Norbert.

Without so much as a backward glance at his cabin, Hagrid was trudging off up the grounds with Madame Maxime, the Beauxbatons students following in their wake, jogging to keep up with their enormous strides.

“Well, never mind us,” Harry said, unable to stop the giggles from coming out. They all looked at each other before bursting into full on laughter, letting themselves out of the cabin. It was surprisingly dark outside. Drawing their cloaks more closely around themselves, they set off up the sloping lawns.

“Look,” Hermione whispered, nodding her head. The Durmstrang party were walking up towards the castle from the lake. Viktor Krum was walking side by side with Karkaroff, and the other Durmstrang students were straggling along behind them.

They said goodbye to Neville as they entered the candlelit Great Hall. It was almost full, and the Goblet of Fire had been moved, now standing in front of Dumbledore’s empty chair at the teachers’ table. They looked around at all the Halloween decorations. < Happy Halloween, Me Me, > Hermione said as they made their way over to the Slytherin table. 

< Happy Halloween, Mi Mi, > he said softly. < Thirteen years without our parents. > The bond rippled between the two of them as they breathed out.

“Oh, thank the gods,” Draco said as they sat down. “I was honestly starting to think that the Skrewts had eaten you.”

“No,” Harry said. “But they have started eating each other apparently.”

Draco gave a shudder of horror. “Give me strength.”

The Hallowe’en feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was their second feast in two days, the twins didn’t seem to fancy the extravagantly prepared food as much as they would normally have done. Like everyone else in the Hall, judging by the constantly craning necks, the impatient expressions on every face, the fidgeting and the standing up to see whether Dumbledore had finished eating yet, Harry and Hermione simply wanted the plates to clear, and to hear who had been selected as champions. < I reckon a Ravenclaw or a Gryffindor, > Hermione said. < I know we’re ambitious, but Slytherins are also smart and enjoy staying alive. >

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored. “Well, the Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” – he indicated the door behind the staff table – “where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them all into a state of semi-darkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting … a few people kept checking their watches …

The flames inside the Goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it – the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue white.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

A storm of applause and cheering swept the Hall as Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up towards Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared into the next chamber. < Fucking knew it, > Harry said, ignoring Hermione’s eye roll at his enthusiastic clapping.

“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!”

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the Goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

< It’s the Veela girl, > Hermione said, as Fleur got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

< Ugh, look at her classmates, > Harry said, looking over at the other Beauxbatons students. < Some of them are actually crying. That’s so fucking pathetic. > Hermione scoffed as she continued clapping politely along with everyone else.

When Fleur Delacour, too, had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so stiff with excitement you could almost taste it. The Hogwarts champion next … And the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

The uproar from the Hufflepuff table was immense. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off towards the chamber behind the teachers’ table. Indeed, the applause for Cedric went on so long that it was some time before Dumbledore could make himself heard again.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily, as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real –“

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the Goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air and borne upon it was another piece of parchment. Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore.

A deep sense of foreboding gripped both twins as Dumbledore continued to stare down at the piece of parchment, and time seemed to slow to an absolute crawl, the seconds ticking by loudly. The bond started to roil between them, picking up on their growing sense of worry.

And then Dumbledore cleared his throat, and read out –

“Harry Potter!”

< Fuck no, > Harry gasped. < No, no, no. > Hermione was similarly in a state of shock as every head in the Great Hall turned to looked at them. She almost felt like someone had put the Imperius Curse on her, all feeling had vanished the moment her brother’s name had been called out.

< This can’t be happening, > she said. There was no applause, but a buzzing was starting to fill the Hall, and some students were standing up to get a better look at them. Harry remained utterly frozen.

Up at the top table, Professor McGonagall had got to her feet and swept past Ludo Bagman and Professor Karkaroff to whisper urgently to Professor Dumbledore, who bent his ear towards her, frowning slightly. Harry shifted to stare at his sister, hoping to see some way forward in her eyes, but she was staring equally as blank back at him, her eyebrows drawn together in concern.

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall. He opened his mouth but before he could say anything, the fire in the Goblet once again turned red, sparks shooting out of it. And for the last time that night, a long tongue of flame shot a piece of parchment out. Hermione felt like all her senses had failed her as Dumbledore plucked the parchment out of the air and looked down at it, before loudly calling out her name. “Hermione Potter!”

The buzzing in the hall got even louder at that pronouncement, people now openly glaring at the two of them.

“Harry and Hermione Potter!” Dumbledore called. “Up here, if you please!”

< I do not fucking please, > Hermione spat, anger starting to burn away the numbness she’d felt. She grabbed Harry’s hand and they both stood up, staring wordlessly at their friends. As the angry whispers got louder, they both set off towards the head table, trying to ignore the hundreds of eyes upon them. It felt like an immensely long walk; the top table didn’t seem to be getting any nearer at all. The bond was ringing between the two of them but neither had any words for what was happening. After what seemed like an hour, they were right in front of Dumbledore, feeling the stares of all the teachers upon him.

“Well … through the door, you two,” said Dumbledore. He wasn’t smiling.

The twins moved off along the teachers’ table. Hagrid was sat right at the end. He did not wink at them, or wave, or give any of his usual signs of greeting. He looked completely astonished, and stared at them as they passed, like everyone else.

< We’re really fucked now, Mi, > Harry said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there were a few comments talking about Hermione just letting loose and swearing. Well, she absolutely would - over the bond - but both twins don't like drawing attention to themselves unless they've planned it, really. They're very used to remaining mute, Hermione especially, who lets her brother do most of the talking for the pair of them.  
> But I love all your comments and thoughts and ideas so keep them coming.  
> Lots of love to you all.


	17. Magically Binding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the argument continues ... 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

They went through the door out of the Great Hall, and found themselves in a smaller room, lined with paintings of witches and wizards. A fire was roaring in the fireplace opposite. The faces in the portraits turned to look at they as they entered. Viktor Krum, Cedric Diggory and Fleur Delacour were grouped around the fire. They looked strangely impressive, silhouetted against the flames. Krum, hunched up and brooding, was leaning against the mantelpiece, slightly apart from the other two. Cedric was standing with his hands behind his back, staring into the fire. Fleur Delacour looked around when the twins walked in, and threw back her sheet of long, silvery hair.

“What is it?” she said. “Do zey want us back in ze Hall?” She thought they had come to deliver a message.

There was a sound of scurrying feet behind him, and Ludo Bagman entered the room. He took Harry and Hermione by the arm and led them forwards. “Extraordinary!” he said, squeezing their arms. Hermione wrenched her arm away from him. “Absolutely extraordinary! Gentlemen, lady,” he added, approaching the fireside and addressing the other three. “May I introduce – incredible though it may seem – the fourth and fifth Triwizard champions?’

Viktor Krum straightened up. His surly face darkened as he surveyed Harry and Hermione. Cedric looked nonplussed. He looked from Bagman to the twins and back again as though sure he must have misheard what Bagman had said. Fleur Delacour, however, tossed her hair, smiling, and said, “Oh, vairy funny joke, Meester Bagman.”

“Joke?” Bagman repeated, bewildered. “No, no, not at all! Their names just came out of the Goblet of Fire!”

Krum’s thick eyebrows contracted slightly. Cedric was still looking politely bewildered. Fleur frowned. “But evidently zair ’as been a mistake,” she said contemptuously to Bagman. “Zey cannot compete. Zey are too young.”

“Well … it is amazing,” said Bagman, rubbing his smooth chin and smiling down at them all. “But, as you know, the age restriction was only imposed this year as an extra safety measure. And as their names did come out of the Goblet … I mean, I don’t …”

Both Harry and Hermione felt like they weren’t quite in their bodies, like they’d left parts of them behind in the Great Hall, as Bagman and Fleur argued about it. The bond was still humming, a high-pitched noise in their ears that made everything else sound very far away.

The door behind them opened again, and a large group of people came in: Professor Dumbledore, followed closely by Mr Crouch, Professor Karkaroff, Madame Maxime, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape. Harry heard the buzzing of the hundreds of students on the other side of the wall, before Professor McGonagall closed the door.

“Madame Maxime!” said Fleur at once, striding over to her Headmistress. “Zey are saying zat zese two are to compete also!”

< What the fuck is going on, Mi? > Harry breathed, feeling like everything had snapped back to him all at once, an entire world of stress pouring down on them. Hermione could feel the rage starting to build up under her skin, flames licking under her skin.

Madame Maxime had drawn herself up to her full, and considerable, height. The top of her handsome head brushed the candle-filled chandelier, and her gigantic black satin bosom swelled. “What is ze meaning of zis, Dumbly-dorr?” she said imperiously.

“I’d rather like to know that myself, Dumbledore,” said Professor Karkaroff. He was wearing a steely smile, and his blue eyes were like chips of ice. “Three Hogwarts champions? I don’t remember anyone telling me the host school is allowed three champions – or have I not read the rules carefully enough?” He gave a short and nasty laugh.

“C’est impossible,” said Madame Maxime, whose enormous hand with its many superb opals was resting upon Fleur’s shoulder. “’Ogwarts cannot ’ave two more champions. It is most injust.”

“We were under the impression that your Age Line would keep out younger contestants, Dumbledore,” said Karkaroff, his steely smile still in place, though his eyes were colder than ever. “Otherwise, we would, of course, have brought along a wider selection of candidates from our own schools.”

Professor Dumbledore was now looking down at Harry and Hermione, who both looked right back at him, trying to discern the expression of the eyes behind the half-moon spectacles. “Did you two put your names into the Goblet of Fire?” Dumbledore asked calmly.

“No,” they both intoned, aware of everybody watching them closely. Snape was staring down at both of them, an unreadable expression on his face, his dark eyes glinting in the firelight.

“Did you ask an older student to put them in for you?” Professor Dumbledore said.

“No,” they said again. Hermione carefully kept her face very blank. < Is he saying that would work? > she said. < That’s completely fucking ridiculous. >

< This world is ridiculous but shush, > Harry said. < We need to know everything they say. >

“Ah, but of course zey are lying!” cried Madame Maxime.

“We’re not lying!” Hermione said furiously, finally snapping and tossing her hair. “This is a complete farce. I want our guardian to be called immediately. We’re not having any fucking part of this, whatsoever.”

“They could not have crossed the Age Line,” said Professor McGonagall sharply, giving Hermione a look that clearly said 'language'. “I am sure we are all agreed on that –“

“Dumbly-dorr must ’ave made a mistake wiz ze line,” said Madame Maxime, shrugging.

“It is possible, of course,” said Dumbledore politely.

“Dumbledore, you know perfectly well you did not make a mistake!’ said Professor McGonagall angrily. “Really, what nonsense! They could not have crossed the line!”

“Mr Crouch … Mr Bagman,” said Karkaroff, his voice unctuous once more, “you are our – er – objective judges. Surely you will agree that this is most irregular?”

Bagman wiped his round, boyish face with his handkerchief and looked at Mr Crouch, who was standing outside the circle of the firelight, his face half hidden in shadow. He looked slightly eerie, the half-darkness making him look much older, giving him an almost skull-like appearance. When he spoke, however, it was in his usual curt voice. “We must follow the rules, and the rules state clearly that those people whose names come out of the Goblet of Fire are bound to compete in the Tournament.”

“What, are you saying we have to compete?” Harry said, but no-one listened.

“Well, Barty knows the rulebook back to front,” said Bagman, beaming and turning back to Karkaroff and Madame Maxime, as though the matter was now closed.

“I insist upon resubmitting the names of the rest of my students,” said Karkaroff. He had dropped his unctuous tone and his smile now. His face wore a very ugly look indeed. “You will set up the Goblet of Fire once more, and we will continue adding names until each school has three champions. It’s only fair, Dumbledore.”

“But Karkaroff, it doesn’t work like that,” said Bagman. “The Goblet of Fire’s just gone out – it won’t reignite until the start of the next Tournament –“

“– in which Durmstrang will most certainly not be competing!” exploded Karkaroff. “After all our meetings and negotiations and compromises, I little expected something of this nature to occur! I have half a mind to leave now!”

“Empty threat, Karkaroff,” growled a voice from near the door. “You can’t leave your champion now. He’s got to compete. They’ve all got to compete. Binding magical contract, like Dumbledore said. Convenient, eh?” Moody had just entered the room. He limped towards the fire, and with every right step he took, there was a loud clunk.

“Convenient?” said Karkaroff. “I’m afraid I don’t understand you, Moody.” Hermione could tell he was trying to sound disdainful, as though what Moody was saying was barely worth his notice, but his hands gave him away; they had balled themselves into fists.

“Don’t you?” said Moody quietly. “It’s very simple, Karkaroff. Someone put the Potter twins’ names in that Goblet knowing they’d have to compete if they came out.”

“Evidently, someone ’oo wished to give ’Ogwarts three bites at ze apple!” said Madame Maxime.

“I quite agree, Madame Maxime,” said Karkaroff, bowing to her. “I shall be lodging complaints with the Ministry of Magic and the International Confederation of Wizards –“

“If anyone’s got reason to complain, it’s the Potter twins,” growled Moody, “but … funny thing … I don’t hear them saying much …”

< Well, to be fair, that’s just us as a rule, > Harry said. < We’d be completely mute if we could get away with it ... although, annoy my sister enough and ... >

< Shut up Me, this is completely fucked, > Hermione said. < It’s magically binding! We’re going to have to compete! >

“Why should zey complain?” burst out Fleur Delacour, stamping her foot. “Zey ’ave ze chance to compete. We ’ave all been ’oping to be chosen for weeks and weeks! Ze honour and ze fame! A thousand Galleons in prize money – zis is a chance many would die for!”

"We're already famous ... you can look us up if you like," Hermione snapped right back. "This is completely fucked! Are you all saying we have to compete? We DIDN'T put our names in. We're fourteen, for fuck sake. I'm so glad y'all wanted the chance to die for your schools, but we're not interested." She turned to Crouch and Bagman, and stuck her finger in their face. Harry repressed a sigh. "You better find us a way out of this! We're not dying in some fucked up publicity stunt." 

Harry dragged her across the bond. < Would you please shut up, before one of these people kills us before the Tournament even begins! >

“Maybe someone’s hoping one of you is going to die for it,” said Moody, with the merest trace of a growl.

An extremely tense silence followed these words. Harry felt his sister’s mind kick into overdrive at the words, her rage completely diverted by Moody's words, her churning thoughts making the bond ripple. Glad at least that she'd stop antagonising powerful people, and knowing she wouldn't be paying much attention as her incredible brain flew through theories, Harry listened even more closely to everyone around them. 

Ludo Bagman, who was looking very anxious indeed, bounced nervously up and down on his feet and said, “Moody, old man … what a thing to say!”

“We all know Professor Moody considers the morning wasted if he hasn’t discovered six plots to murder him before lunchtime,” said Karkaroff loudly. “Apparently, he is now teaching his students to fear assassination, too. An odd quality in a Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Dumbledore, but no doubt you had your reasons.” Harry clenched his teeth to avoid laughing, the stress now doing funny things to his emotions.

“Imagining things, am I?” growled Moody. “Seeing things, eh? It was a skilled witch or wizard who put their names in that Goblet …”

“Ah, what evidence is zere of zat?” said Madame Maxime, throwing up her huge hands.

“Because they hoodwinked a very powerful magical object!” said Moody. “It would have needed an exceptionally strong Confundus Charm to bamboozle that Goblet into forgetting that only three schools compete in the Tournament … I’m guessing they submitted the Potter twins’ names under a fourth and fifth school, to make sure they were the only one in their category …”

“You seem to have given this a great deal of thought, Moody,” said Karkaroff coldly, “and a very ingenious theory it is – though, of course, I heard you recently got it into your head that one of your birthday presents contained a cunningly disguised basilisk egg, and smashed it to pieces before realising it was a carriage clock. So, you’ll understand if we don’t take you entirely seriously …”

“There are those who’ll turn innocent occasions to their advantage,” Moody retorted in a menacing voice. “It’s my job to think the way Dark wizards do, Karkaroff – as you ought to remember …”

“Alastor!” said Dumbledore warningly and Moody fell silent, though still surveying Karkaroff with satisfaction – Karkaroff’s face was burning.

“How this situation arose, we do not know,” said Dumbledore, speaking to everyone gathered in the room. “It seems to me, however, that we have no choice but to accept it. Both Hermione and Harry have been chosen to compete in the Tournament. This, therefore, they will do …”

“Ah, but Dumbly-dorr –“

“My dear Madame Maxime, if you have an alternative, I would be delighted to hear it.” Dumbledore waited, but Madame Maxime did not speak, she merely glared. She wasn’t the only one, either. Snape looked furious; Karkaroff livid. Bagman, however, looked rather excited.

“Well, shall we crack on, then?” he said, rubbing his hands together and smiling around the room. “Got to give our champions their instructions, haven’t we? Barty, want to do the honours?”

Mr Crouch seemed to come out of a deep reverie. “Yes,’ he said, “instructions. Yes … the first task …” He moved forwards into the firelight. Close to, Harry thought he looked ill. There were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and a thin, papery look about his wrinkled skin that had not been there at the Quidditch World Cup. “The first task is designed to test your daring,” he told them, “so we are not going to be telling you what it is. Courage in the face of the unknown is an important quality in a wizard … very important … The first task will take place on November the twenty-fourth, in front of the other students and the panel of judges. The champions are not permitted to ask for or accept help of any kind from their teachers to complete the tasks in the Tournament. The champions will face the first challenge armed only with their wands. They will receive information about the second task when the first is over. Owing to the demanding and time-consuming nature of the Tournament, the champions are exempted from end-of-year tests.” Mr Crouch turned to look at Dumbledore. “I think that’s all, is it, Albus?”

“I think so,” said Dumbledore, who was looking at Mr Crouch with mild concern. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay at Hogwarts tonight, Barty?”

“No, Dumbledore, I must get back to the Ministry,” said Mr Crouch. “It is a very busy, very difficult time at the moment … I’ve left young Weatherby in charge … very enthusiastic … a little over-enthusiastic, if truth be told …”

“You’ll come and have a drink before you go, at least?” said Dumbledore.

“Come on, Barty, I’m staying!” said Bagman brightly. “It’s all happening at Hogwarts now, you know, much more exciting here than at the office!”

“I think not, Ludo,” said Crouch, with a touch of his old impatience.

“Professor Karkaroff – Madame Maxime – a nightcap?” said Dumbledore. But Madame Maxime had already put her arm around Fleur’s shoulders and was leading her swiftly out of the room. Harry could hear them both talking very fast in French as they went off into the Great Hall. Karkaroff beckoned to Krum, and they, too, exited, though in silence.

“Harry, Hermione, Cedric, I suggest you go up to bed,” said Dumbledore, smiling at both of them. “I am sure Slytherin and Hufflepuff are waiting to celebrate with you, and it would be a shame to deprive them of this excellent excuse to make a great deal of mess and noise.”

Harry fought to keep his face blank at Dumbledore’s words and glanced at Cedric, who nodded. Grabbing his sister’s hand, knowing she was still deep in thought, they all left together. The Great Hall was deserted now; the candles had burnt low, giving the jagged smiles of the pumpkins an eerie, flickering quality. Sensing that Cedric was about to say something, he quickly flashed a smile at the other boy before dragging Hermione out of the Hall, and behind one of the hidden tapestries.

< Come back to me now please, > Harry said, snapping his fingers in his sister’s face. < What’s going through your mind? Because all I’ve got is the phrase ‘we are fucked’ on repeat. > Hermione took a deep breath in as she looked at Harry.

< We know a lot of separate things, > she said, < and I’m worried that they are all joined, however tenuously. Together, they don't paint a good picture. We know the prophecy has been set in motion; Voldemort will rise … then there's the Dark Mark at the World Cup and the old Death Eaters torturing Muggles … our new dreams of Voldemort and Wormtail. Remember what was said? ‘The path to the Potter twins will be clear’ … Dumbledore getting Moody out of retirement … Karkaroff being a Death Eater … and now our names have been pulled out of the Goblet of Fire … Me Me, it’s magically binding – we have no choice, we have to compete. Moody thinks someone is hoping we’ll die competing. And then there’s all the stuff in the background with the Soul Diaries – that have the ability to come to life, a magic that no-one seems to know anything about - and our bond and whatever our mother did. > Hermione’s eyes were glowing brighter and brighter as she worked through it all.

< If it’s all connected, then somehow Voldemort has arranged for us to be in the Triwizard Tournament, > Harry said. < But to what end? To hope that we die? That seems too tenuous for him. >

< I don’t know, but Moody’s right. Only a powerful wizard could have done this … the Goblet of Fire is ancient. It’s been around since the first Triwizard Tournament, which was centuries ago, > Hermione said. < This isn’t just some lame prank; someone went to a lot of effort to magically bind us to the Tournament. >

< You know hardly anyone is going to believe us, > Harry said. < It’s going to be the fucking Chamber of Secrets all over again. >

< What are we going to tell our House? > Hermione said. < You know they’ll all be sitting there waiting for us to get back … like second year all over again. >

< Fucking hell, > Harry said. < I don’t suppose there’s some cool myth we can subvert for our purposes again, is there? >

< About the Tournament? No, just a lot of deaths, > Hermione said. < Although, now that you say that … > She looked off into the distance, the bond starting to heat up. < Remember how people think we have Seer powers? >


	18. The Veil Is Thin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the creepy twins are back 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >  
> Parseltongue is denoted by italics 
> 
> Sound off below, I love all your comments so much :)

Agreed on the way forward, Harry yanked back the tapestry, only to shriek at the sight of Snape standing over them. < Fucking gods, this overgrown bat, > he said, his heartbeat slowly returning to normal. Hermione simply cocked an eyebrow at the Potions Master.

“What did you two do?” Snape asked in quiet voice, staring intently at the two of them. 

“What are you talking about?” Hermione asked, smiling up at the Professor. Harry could see his nostrils flare slightly, but it was the only sign, he otherwise kept his emotions locked down. He knew Hermione had seen it too and didn’t bother trying to stop her from further antagonising him. Sometimes the fastest way forward was through.

“I know for a fact you’re not as idiotic as you look,” Snape said, “so I’ll ask again. **What** did you two **do**?”

“We had a lovely Halloween, sir,” Hermione said. “Thank you for asking.” She flicked out her wand with a careless grace. “The moon is out, and the Veil is thin.” A second later, and her hair had changed to the same deep red of her mothers. “Is there anything you’d like to say to Lily? … the Veil will close soon.”

< There is something deeply wrong with you, > Harry groaned.

< Mmm, Sirius told me more of the story between Snape and our mother, > Hermione said, watching with satisfaction as all colour drained from Snape’s face. < This is justice, Me … you know what’s branded on his forearm. >

< I don't know why he tries to start stuff with us ... I don't think he's actually won a fight with you yet, > Harry said. “We didn’t put our names in the Goblet,” he said, ploughing through the tension. “I assume that’s what your question is about … well, we didn’t. Now, it’s been a long night.” At that, they left Snape standing as still a statue in the corridor. It would be some time before he moved. 

-/-

It was indeed like second year all over again as they entered the Common Room. Everyone was seated silently, clearly waiting for them to return, all heads turning to look at them as they stepped through.

“House Meeting,” called the newest seventh year prefect, Tamsin Travers.

< Why does no-one else ever get a fucking house meeting called about them? > Hermione griped, heading towards the prefect.

< Because no-one else is fucking cursed, > Harry replied.

Tamsin cleared her throat. “Why did you place your names into the Goblet of Fire?” she asked frankly, plunging right into the heart of the matter. “You’ve placed our House under a lot of scrutiny by your actions, everyone is going to think that you have cheated your way into the Tournament. Yes, you may win our House some glory … but this also has the potential to bring even more disrepute onto our House. I highly doubt the rest of the school is pleased by your actions.”

“We didn’t put our names into the Cup,” Harry said, while Hermione surveyed the room, catching many frank looks of disbelief and a few eye rolls.

“You said this morning that you’d do it at night as you wouldn’t want to be witnessed doing it,” Tamsin replied. Hermione locked eyes with Draco and watched the other boy gulp guiltily.

< Well fuck this noise, > Hermione said. < I told you they wouldn’t just accept that we didn’t do it. >

< Well, excuuuse me for wanting to try something slightly rational before jumping straight into being creepy fucking twins, > Harry bit back. < But fine, have it your way … we can be creepy twins now. >

They looked out at everyone and let the bond shine through as they started speaking together. “We didn’t put our names into the Goblet, but we know who did, although we must confess that their true motives for doing so remain shrouded,” they said. “Last year, as we battled for the soul of our godfather, a prophecy was revealed to us … a whisper through the Veil from our Lady Valentina, delivering us a warning.” There were several sharp intakes of breath around the room.

“She told us that the Dark Lord would rise … greater and more terrible than before,” they intoned, letting their faces go blank as the bond shone out. “That there would be trials and tribulations in our future … we thank our Lady for her blessing and her knowledge.” They bowed their heads, allowing what they’d said to settle in around the room.

“We hoped that maybe our Lady was wrong,” Harry continued on, “that what she had Seen would not come to pass.”

“But dark have been our dreams these past few months,” Hermione continued, gazing heavily at her fellow students … they all looked away first under the weight of her eyes.

“We have Seen him,” they spoke together. “The False God has risen again, though he remains weak at the moment … but there are storms on the horizon, and we know this is only the beginning … War is coming.”

< Listen closely, will you? > Hermione said. < Let your senses spread out. >

< Why, what’s going on? > Harry asked.

< Because someone put our names into the Cup, and the only way that happened is if Voldemort has someone here in Hogwarts. I want to know if anyone in this room has been branded, > she replied, as she started to weave her way around the room, eyes still glowing deeply. _“I want to know if someone here has fallen into the darkness,”_ she hissed. _“Listen to me, all of you, a True-Born Speaker is here.”_ She continued talking as Harry closed his eyes, trying to let his senses spread, listening hard for anything but there was nothing.

< I don’t think anyone here has been Marked, > he said. < It’s got to be someone older … Voldemort hasn’t had the time to get new followers yet. >

“Voldemort has a servant here at Hogwarts,” Hermione spat, watching as several people flinched at the name. “I’m thankful that it’s no-one in this room.”

She returned back to Harry’s side, allowing the fire to cast their shadows across the room. “Listen to us,” they said softly, making everyone lean in closer. “The False God, the one who wrongly proclaimed himself to be the Heir, who brought our beloved House into disrepute is rising, as sure as the incoming tide … he believes the people in this room belong to him, and he will tempt you, try to seduce you…”

The twins once again let their faces go entirely blank, standing stock still, as they intoned, “Blood and darkness and death await any who follow him. As Magic has judged Voldemort, so it will judge you. This, we know.”

The tension in the room was stifling, the silence so profound that you could hear a pin drop. Harry and Hermione roped the bond back, letting their eyes return to their normal colour, before nodding at the room and heading towards the dormitory. < Well, if that doesn’t work, then fuck them. Voldemort can have them, > Hermione said. < We have to go and call Sirius. >


	19. The Next Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for everyone's comments and kudos, I appreciate y'all so much
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

Harry could feel the beginnings of a headache when he woke the next day and knew Hermione hadn’t slept well either. Sirius had been unbelievably furious at the news while Remus had just been worried. He’d confirmed that Karkaroff had indeed been a Death Eater, but that he’d escaped Azkaban by doing a deal with the Ministry by naming a load of other Death Eaters in his place. Sirius had promised to see what he could do, but Remus had said in a quiet voice that there really wasn’t any way out of such a magical bind.

The Common Room was dead silent again as they walked through on their way to breakfast, people glancing at them in either fear or awe. < Fucking great, > Hermione said. < I hate this school. > Harry resolutely didn’t look at anyone and strode towards the entrance, pushing it open to find themselves face to face with Daphne and Pansy.

“You two certainly know how to make a scene, don’t you?” Pansy said, as Daphne held up a stack of toast in a napkin. “Come on, you don’t want to go the Great Hall at the moment.”

They climbed out of the dungeons and crossed the Entrance Hall quickly without looking in at the Great Hall and were soon striding across the lawn towards the lake, where the Durmstrang ship was moored, reflected blackly in the water. It was a chilly morning, and they kept moving, munching their toast quietly, waiting for someone to speak first.

Harry gave in first, knowing the futility of a stand-off between three Slytherin girls, and started telling Pansy and Daphne what had happened after their names had been called and what they’d been told about the Tournament so far.

“We knew you hadn’t entered yourselves,” Pansy sniffed. “The looks on your faces, it was obvious … the rest of the school just happen to be morons. But no-one in our year believes you did it.”

“And no-one in Slytherin thinks you did after last night,” Daphne said nervously. “Is it true? Did you really See him?”

“We did,” Harry said grimly. “We’re not sure what it all means … but he is slowly returning.”

“Well, we can’t do anything about that right now,” Pansy said firmly. “He’s not here in the castle … whoever the servant is … well, you two will just have to be vigilant, won’t you? More than you already are. But surviving the Tournament is the most pressing thing right now.”

Harry snorted. “We don’t know anything about the first task … courage in the face of the unknown and all that bullshit,” he said.

“That’s like your whole thing,” Pansy snapped back. “It’s literally what you’ve done every single year since you’ve been here … you’re just going to have to do it again. My advice? Don’t be afraid to cheat.”

“Cheat?!” Harry exclaimed.

“Don’t act innocent,” Pansy said. “Yes, cheat. Someone cheated by putting you into the Tournament … you can damn well cheat your way through it.”

They were interrupted by someone calling their names. They turned away from the Lake to see Ginny and Neville striding down towards them.

“Are you OK?” Neville said as he joined them.

“Fucking peachy,” Hermione said, letting out a big sigh. “We didn’t do it, Nev! We didn’t put our names in.”

“Of course you didn’t,” Ginny said, looking confused. “Why would you? You’re not morons and you’ve already got enough glory and honour to last a lifetime.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately there are a lot of morons in this school who think they did,” Pansy said. “Oh … Daph, this is Neville of House Longbottom, and Ginevra of House Weasley. Everyone, this is Daphne of House Greengrass.”

“Call me Ginevra again Pansy and you’ll be in that bloody lake,” Ginny said.

“You two can fight later,” Neville said, grinning. “Of course I don’t think you two put your names in … but what happens now? Do you have to compete?”

“It’s magically binding,” Harry said dully. “We don’t have a choice.”

“Can it be worse than the Chamber of Secrets?” Ginny joked. “… in all seriousness though, what do you know about the First Task?”

“Nothing,” Harry said flatly. “It’s all about bravery in the face of the unknown.”

“Well, that’s like your whole thing,” Ginny exclaimed.

“That’s exactly what I said, Ginevra,” Pansy jibed, which safely concluded the entire conversation as Ginny launched herself at Pansy and threw them both into the freezing lake. 

-/-

Unfortunately, the rest of the school held very different views to their friends, and it was clear they all thought the twins had entered themselves and they were not impressed. The Hufflepuffs were cold towards them, the Ravenclaws treated them with haughty judgement, but the Gryffindors were the worst. So, naturally, they had Care of Magical Creatures with the Gryffindors first the next day.

Ron Weasley arrived with a sneer on his face. “Well, if it isn’t the Champions,” he spat. “We all heard Dumbledore … there were deaths in the last Tournaments. How long d’you reckon they’re gonna last? No longer than twenty is my guess.”

< Let me release one of the Blast-Ended Skrewts, > Hermione begged, glaring at the Gryffindors, who were laughing along with Ron.

Before she could though, Hagrid arrived from the back of his cabin, holding a teetering tower of crates, each containing a very large Blast-Ended Skrewt. To the class’s horror, Hagrid proceeded to explain that the reason the Skrewts had been killing each other was an excess of pent-up energy, and that the solution would be for each of the class to fix a leash on a Skrewt and take it for a short walk. The only good thing about this plan was that it distracted everyone completely.

“Take this thing for a walk?” Draco and Lavender said together, an equal look of disgust on their faces, before glancing at each other uncomfortably.

“Where exactly are we supposed to fix the leash? Around the sting, the blasting end, or the sucker?” Parvati sniffed.

“Roun’ the middle,” Hagrid said, demonstrating. “Er – yeh might want ter put on yer dragon-hide gloves, jus’ as an extra precaution, like. You two – come here an’ held me with this big one …”

Hagrid’s real intention, however, was to talk to the twins away from the rest of the class. He waited until everyone else had set off with their Skrewts, then turned to Harry and Hermione and said, very seriously, “So – yer competin’ in the Tournament? School champions …” Hagrid’s beetle-black eyes looked very anxious under his wild eyebrows. “No idea who put yeh names in fer it?”

“You believe we didn’t do it, then?” Harry said, concealing with difficulty the rush of gratitude he felt at Hagrid’s words.

“Course I do,” Hagrid said gruffly. “Yehs say it wasn’ you, an’ I believe yehs – an’ Dumbledore believes yers, an’ all.” The three of them looked out over the lawn; the class was widely scattered now, and all in great difficulty. The Skrewts were now over three feet long, and extremely powerful. No longer shell-less and colourless, they had developed a kind of thick, greyish armour. They looked like a cross between giant scorpions and elongated crabs – but still without recognisable heads or eyes. They had become immensely strong, and very hard to control. “Looks like they’re havin’ fun, don’ they?” Hagrid said happily.

< He must be joking, > Hermione said, certain that her classmates were definitely not having fun. Every now and then, with an alarming bang, one of the Skrewts’ ends would explode, causing it to shoot forward several yards, and more than one person was being dragged along on their stomach, trying desperately to get back on their feet.

“Ah, I don’ know, you two,” Hagrid sighed suddenly, looking back down at them with a worried expression on his face. “School champions … everythin’ seems ter happen ter you two, doesn’ it?” 

“Tell me about it,” Harry said flatly.

-/-

The next few days were a return to the months in second year when a large part of the school had suspected them of attacking their fellow students, although with more condescension and less fear. They used the Map frequently to avoid large crowds, Hermione’s anger growing steadily until it felt like her skin was constantly on fire. Harry just felt tired, either dislike or fear pouring onto them from all sides.

It was the end of the week and they had double Potions, which in Harry’s opinion was nothing short of torture. Snape’s opinion of the twins had never been lower following Hermione's thorough savaging of him, combined with the events of last year and the fact they were now living with his most hated enemy, Sirius Black. Combine that with being shut in a dungeon for an hour and a half with both Snape and the Gryffindors, who all seemed determined to punish Harry and Hermione as much as possible for daring to become school champion, was about the most unpleasant thing the twins could imagine. Hermione was theatrically thinking about spending time with the Acromantulas instead, while Harry studiously ignored her.

When he and Hermione arrived outside Snape’s dungeons after lunch, they found the Gryffindors waiting outside, all of them, except for Neville who was standing away hunched in on himself to avoid attention, wearing a large badge on the front of their robes. The badges all bore the same message, in luminous red letters that burnt brightly in the dimly lit underground passage:

Support CEDRIC DIGGORY – the REAL Hogwarts Champion!

“Like them, Potter?” Weasley said loudly, as they approached. “And this isn’t all they do – look!” He pressed his badge into his chest, and the message upon it vanished, to be replaced by another one, which glowed green:

POTTER STINKS

The Gryffindors howled with laughter. Each of them pressed their badges, too, until the message POTTER STINKS was shining brightly all around the twins.

“I know you didn’t make these, Weasley,” Hermione snapped, “considering you don’t even have enough magical talent or power to cast a Summoning Charm.”

“You bitch,” Ron spat.

< Oh, thank you for the invitation, > Hermione said, baring her teeth at the Gryffindors as she flicked her wand out. People all around them scrambled out of the way, backing down the corridor. Ron pulled his wand out too, his bravado rapidly draining from his face as Harry sighed and pulled his wand out too. < Just a light maiming? >

< No maiming, > Harry said. < Just curse him or something. I do like the Bat Bogey Hex that Ginny taught us. >

Without another word, Hermione snapped out the curse, watching with glee as the jet of light hit Weasley smack in the face. For good measure, she cast the Boil curse and laughed as great ugly boils sprung up across his entire body. “Fuck with me or my brother again, Weasley, and I’ll end your fucking life,” she said in a sweet voice.

“And what is all this noise about?” said a soft, deadly voice. Snape had arrived. Silence descended, the Gryffindors looking back and forth amongst themselves, trying to decide if they should tell Snape or not. Finally, Lavender Brown spoke up and told Snape what Hermione had done. Snape looked coldly down at Ron. “I don’t see any difference,” he said, and swept into the classroom, stepping over Ron’s body. The Slytherins collapsed into giggles as they made their way into the classroom, quieting after a glare from the Potions master.

“Antidotes!” Snape said, looking around at them all, his cold black eyes glittering unpleasantly. “You should all have prepared your recipes now. I want you to brew them carefully, and then we will be selecting someone on whom to test one …”

A knock on the dungeon door interrupted the lesson. It was Colin Creevey; he edged into the room, smiling nervously at Harry, and walked up to Snape’s desk at the front of the room.

“Yes?” Snape said curtly.

“Please, sir, I’m supposed to take the Potter twins upstairs.”

Snape stared down his hooked nose at Colin, whose smile faded from his eager face. “They have another hour of Potions to complete,” Snape said coldly. “They can come upstairs when this class is finished.”

“Sir – sir, Mr Bagman wants them,” he said nervously. “All the Champions have got to go, I think they want to take photographs …”

< Eww, gods no, > Hermione said in horror.

“Fine,” Snape snapped. “Get out, you two.”

Grabbing their bag, the twins reluctantly followed Colin out the door, the POTTER STINKS badges flashing at them from every direction.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Harry?” Colin said, starting to speak the moment the dungeon door closed behind them. He chanced a nervous glance at Hermione.

“No,” Hermione said flatly, cutting off anything further Colin wanted to say.

Harry begrudgingly knocked on the door that Colin led them too and entered. It was a fairly small classroom; most of the desks had been pushed away to the back of the room, leaving a large space in the middle; three of them, however, had been placed, end to end, in front of the blackboard, and covered with a long length of velvet. Six chairs had been set behind the velvet-covered desks, and Ludo Bagman was sitting in one of them, talking to a strange witch, who was wearing magenta robes. Victor Krum was standing moodily in a corner as usual, and not talking to anybody. Cedric and Fleur were in conversation. A paunchy man, holding a large black camera which was smoking slightly, was watching Fleur out of the corner of his eye.

Bagman spotted Harry and Hermione, got up quickly and bounded forwards. “Ah, here they are! Champions number four and five! In you come, in you come … nothing to worry about, it’s just the Wand Weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment. We just have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re your most important tools in the tasks ahead,” Bagman said. “The expert’s upstairs now with Dumbledore. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter,” he added, gesturing towards the witch in magenta robes, “she’s doing a small piece on the Tournament for the Daily Prophet …”

“Maybe not that small, Ludo,” Rita Skeeter said, her eyes on the twins. Hermione eyed her off with distaste, nothing her elaborate and rigid curls, jewelled spectacles, the two-inch crimson nails clutching a crocodile-skin handbag.

“I wonder if I could have a little word with you two before we start?” she said, her gazed fixed on the twins. “The youngest champions … twins, you know … to add a bit of colour?”

< Fuck no, > Hermione said. < Absolutely not. >

“Err –“ Harry said, and Rita grabbed his upper arm and tried to steer him out of the room.

Hermione grabbed his other arm and held steadfast, tugging her brother out of Rita’s grip and stepping away from her.

“No thank you,” Hermione said loudly, dragging Harry off towards Krum.

< Did she really just grab me? > Harry said half in outrage, half in disbelief. Hermione was just muttering and swearing furiously over the bond as they stood near the window, studiously not making eye contact with anyone.

Before long everyone else arrived, the judges sitting down at the velvet covered table. Hermione watched as Rita settled herself in a corner, a quill and parchment ready to go.

“May I introduce Mr Ollivander?” Dumbledore said, taking his place at the judges’ table, and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the Tournament.”

The twins looked around, and with a jolt of surprise saw an old wizard with large, pale eyes standing quietly by the door. < Ugh, > Hermione said. < Not him, he was so creepy last time. >

< Never mind that, > Harry said. < Do you remember what he told us when he gave us our wands? >

< Oh shit, > Hermione said. < What if he says that today? >

< We change our names and move to Australia, > Harry said frankly. < I’m not even joking. >

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you forward first, please?” said Mr Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room. Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr Ollivander and handed him her wand. “Hmmm …” he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully. “Yes,’ he said quietly, “nine and a half inches … inflexible … rosewood … and containing … dear me …”

“An ’air from ze ’ead of a Veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”

“Yes,” said Mr Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used Veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands … however, to each his own, and if this suits you …” Mr Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, _“Orchideous!”_ and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip. “Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” said Mr Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand.

“Mr Diggory, you next.” Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her. “Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” said Mr Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn … must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches … ash … pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition … you treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,’ said Cedric, grinning.

< What a wanker, > Hermione muttered.

Mr Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr Krum, if you please.” Viktor Krum got up and slouched, round-shouldered and duck-footed, towards Mr Ollivander. He thrust his wand out and stood scowling, with his hands in the pockets of his robes.

“Hmm,” said Mr Ollivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I … however …” He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes. “Yes … hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees … quite rigid … ten and a quarter inches … _Avis!”_ The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end, and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

“Good,” Mr Ollivander said, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves … the Potter twins.” Glancing at each other, they approached the man and held their wands out. Harry’s wand was chosen first. “Aaaah, yes,” Ollivander said, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember you two in my store.”

Harry could feel the tension ramping up in the bond as Ollivander spent a long time examining their wands, until eventually he made a fountain of wine shoot out of both their wands and handed them back, announcing they were still in perfect condition. They both held back a loud sigh of relief that he hadn’t said anything further about their visit to his wand shop.

“Thank you all,” Dumbledore said, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now – or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end –“

Hermione was almost out the door in a flash before Bagman cried excitedly. “Photos, Dumbledore, photos! All the judges and champions. What do you think, Rita?”

“Er – yes, let’s do those first,” Rita said, who eyes were upon Harry and Hermione again. “And then perhaps some individual shots.”

The photographs took a long time. Madame Maxime cast everyone else into shadow wherever she stood, and the photographer couldn’t stand far enough back to get her into the frame; eventually she had to sit while everyone else stood around her. Karkaroff kept twirling his goatee around his finger to give it an extra curl; Krum, who Harry would have thought would have been used to this sort of thing, skulked, half-hidden, at the back of the group. The photographer seemed keenest to get Fleur at the front, but Rita Skeeter kept hurrying forward and dragging Harry and Hermione into greater prominence. Then she insisted on separate shots of all the champions – but Harry and Hermione together. At last, they were free to go.

< Never again, > Harry muttered fervently.


	20. Beep Beep Bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

Harry thought he was going to have to actually Stun his sister in order to stop her rampaging the next day. Rita Skeeter had published her piece about the Triwizard Tournament, and it had turned out to be not so much a report on the Tournament, as a bizarre coloured life story of the twins. The entire front page of the Daily Prophet was a picture of the twins, and the whole article was a retelling of their defeat of You-Know-Who followed by a mix of rumours and lies about what they’d been up to in their lives so far. The fact that they’d been Sorted into Slytherin featured heavily, with plenty of musing on what that might mean. There was speculation over their living arrangements, and a retelling of how Sirius had escaped from Azkaban and that entire story. The Tournament itself barely featured; the names of the Beauxbatons and the Durmstrang champions had been misspelled and squashed into the last line of the article, and Cedric hadn’t been mentioned at all. Hermione had been so abruptly furious at the entire thing that she’d accidentally set the newspaper alight which had caused a slight ruckus at the breakfast table.

The taunts, jeers, and number of people wearing the POTTER STINKS badges tripled after the article, and they returned to sneaking through the corridors using the Map and the Cloak to avoid the hateful crowds. They wanted to spend most of their time in the library, going over every spell that might be helpful in the upcoming challenge, but unfortunately Victor Krum was also in the library an awful lot. This meant that groups of giggling girls often turned up to spy on him from behind bookshelves, which drove Hermione completely up the wall.

Her ongoing muttering finally caused Harry to snap one day and he dragged her out of the library. < We’re going to find somewhere else to read and study and practice spells because if I have to put up with Krum’s fucking annoying groupies or you whinging about them for one second longer, I’m going to lose my fucking mind, > he said, trying not to yell.

< Where though? > Hermione said. < I mean, the trunk is great, but it’s not as useful for practicing lots of spells … particularly more dangerous spells. >

< I don’t know, but there must be somewhere in this stupid ancient massive castle where we can practice, > Harry said. < Somewhere that no-one can fucking interrupt us. >

Hermione gasped suddenly, her eyes brightening. < No-one! > she crowed.

< Skip to the part where you tell me the answer, > Harry said crankily, all the stress of the year wearing on him.

< The Chamber of Secrets, > Hermione said, beaming. < No-one but the Heirs can get in, Me Me. This is perfect! >

Harry stared at her. < A creepy filthy dungeon with a dead snake? > he said. < Of fucking course, that’s your solution. >

It was as grimy and depressing as Harry remembered, the green light flickering in odd ways, making it look like some of the snakes were alive. But it was also the perfect space, and they spent hours down there practicing various spells, going through their textbooks for anything that might be even remotely useful.

-/-

At half past eleven one evening a few days before the First Task, under the cover of the Cloak, the twins crept out of the Chamber of Secrets and set off through the castle. They’d received a letter from Hagrid that morning telling them to meet him at midnight, that he had something important to show them. The grounds were very dark as they walked down the lawn towards the lights shining in Hagrid’s cabin. The inside of the enormous Beauxbatons carriage was also lit up; they could hear Madame Maxine talking inside it as Harry knocked on Hagrid’s front door.

They slipped inside the cabin as Hagrid opened the door, pulling the Cloak down over their heads. “What’s up, Hagrid?” Harry said.

“Got summat ter show yeh,” Hagrid said. There was an air of enormous excitement about Hagrid. He was wearing a flower that resembled an oversized artichoke in his buttonhole. It looked as though he had abandoned the use of axle grease, but he had certainly attempted to comb his hair – Harry could see the comb’s broken teeth tangled in it.

“What’re you showing us?” Harry asked warily, wondering if the Skrewts had laid eggs, or Hagrid had managed to buy another giant three-headed dog off Voldemort in a pub.

“Come with me, keep quiet an’ keep yerselves covered with that Cloak,” Hagrid said. “We won’ take Fang, he won’ like it …”

< Oh gods, he definitely bought another monster off Voldemort, > Hermione moaned. < We’re gonna die in the Forest. >

< Shut up, > Harry said, hurrying after Hagrid who had opened the cabin door and strode off into the night. They found, to their great surprise, that Hagrid was leading them to the Beauxbatons carriage. < What? >

Hagrid looked around furtively before knocking three times on the door bearing the crossed, golden wands. Madame Maxine opened it. She was wearing a silk shawl wrapped around her massive shoulders. She smiled when she saw Hagrid. “Ah, ‘Agrid … is it time?”

“Bong-sewer,” Hagrid said, beaming at her, and holding out a hand to help her down the golden steps. Madame Maxime closed the door behind her, Hagrid offered her his arm, and they set off around the edge of the paddock containing Madame Maxime’s giant winged horses, with the twins, completely bewildered, running to keep up with them.

< What the fuck is going on? > Hermione muttered, as they struggled to keep up with the ginormous pair.

It seemed that Madame Maxime was in for the same treat as the twins, because after a while she said playfully, “Wair is it you are taking me, ’Agrid?”

“Yeh’ll enjoy this,” said Hagrid gruffly. “Worth seein’, trust me. On’y – don’ go tellin’ anyone I showed yeh, right? Yeh’re not s’posed ter know.”

“Of course not,” said Madame Maxime, fluttering her long black eyelashes. And on still they walked, Harry getting more and more confused and Hermione getting more irritable as they jogged along in their wake.

Just as Hermione was about to snap and throw their cover in order to ask Hagrid why on earth he’d brought them along on his bizarre moonlight stroll, Harry heard something. They had walked so far around the perimeter of the Forest that the castle and the lake were out of sight, and men were shouting up ahead and then came a deafening, ear-splitting roar.

Hagrid led Madame Maxime around a clump of trees and came to a halt. Harry and Hermione hurried up alongside them – for a split second, they thought they were seeing bonfires, and men darting around them – and then both jaws dropped open mouth.

Dragons.

Five fully grown, enormous, vicious-looking dragons were rearing on their hind legs inside an enclosure fenced with thick planks of wood, roaring and snorting – torrents of fire were shooting into the dark sky from their open, fanged mouths, fifty feet above the ground on their outstretched necks. There was a silvery blue one with long, pointed horns, snapping and snarling at the wizards on the ground; a smooth-scaled green one, which was writhing and stamping with all its might; a red one with an odd fringe of fine gold spikes around its face, which was shooting mushroom-shaped fire clouds into the air, and two black ones; one black as the night with purple eyes and one more lizard-like than the others with black scales and bronze horns. At least forty wizards, seven or eight to each dragon, were attempting to control them, pulling on the chains connected to heavy leather straps around their necks and legs. Mesmerised, Harry looked up, high above him, and saw the yellow eyes of the black dragon, with vertical pupils like a cat’s, bulging with either fear or rage, he couldn’t tell which … it was making a horrible noise, a yowling, screeching scream …

“Keep back there, Hagrid!” yelled a wizard near the fence, straining on the chain he was holding. “They can shoot fire at a range of twenty feet, you know! I’ve seen this Horntail do forty!”

“Isn’ it beautiful?” said Hagrid softly.

“It’s no good!” yelled another wizard. “Stunning Spells, on the count of three!” They saw each of the dragon-keepers pull out his wand. _“Stupefy!”_ they shouted in unison, and the Stunning Spells shot into the darkness like fiery rockets, bursting in showers of stars on the dragons’ scaly hides – the dragon nearest to them teetered dangerously on its back legs; its jaws stretched wide in a suddenly silent howl; its nostrils suddenly devoid of flame, though still smoking – then, very slowly, it fell – several tons of sinewy, scaly black dragon hit the ground with a thud that made the trees behind him quake. The dragon-keepers lowered their wands and walked forwards to their fallen charges, each of which was the size of a small hill. They hurried to tighten the chains and fasten them securely to iron pegs, which they forced deep into the ground with their wands.

“Wan’ a closer look?” Hagrid asked Madame Maxime excitedly. The pair of them moved right up to the fence, and the twins followed, the bond echoing dully between them as they tried to comprehend what they were looking at. The wizard who had warned Hagrid not to come any closer turned, and they realised who it was – Charlie Weasley.

“All right, Hagrid?” he panted, coming over to talk. “They should be OK now – we put them out with a Sleeping Draught on the way here, thought it might be better for them to wake up in the dark and the quiet – but, like you saw, they weren’t happy, not happy at all –“

“What breeds you got here, Charlie?” said Hagrid, gazing at the closest dragon – one of the black ones – with something close to reverence. Its eyes were still just open. They could see a strip of gleaming yellow beneath its wrinkled black eyelid.

“This is a Hungarian Horntail,” said Charlie. “Next to it is a Hebridean Black. There’s a Common Welsh Green over there, the smaller one – a Swedish Short-Snout, that blue grey – and a Chinese Fireball, that’s the red.” Charlie looked around; Madame Maxime was strolling away around the edge of the enclosure, gazing at the Stunned dragons. “I didn’t know you were bringing her, Hagrid,” Charlie said, frowning. “The champions aren’t supposed to know what’s coming – she’s bound to tell her student, isn’t she?”

“Jus’ thought she’d like ter see ’em,” shrugged Hagrid, still gazing, enraptured, at the dragons.

“Really romantic date, Hagrid,” said Charlie, shaking his head.

“Five …” said Hagrid, “so it’s one fer each o’ the champions, is it? What’ve they gotta do – fight ’em?”

“Just get past them,” said Charlie. “We’ll be on hand if it gets nasty, extinguishing spells at the ready. They wanted nesting mothers, I don’t know why … but I tell you this, I don’t envy the one who gets the Horntail. Vicious thing. Its back end’s as dangerous as its front, look.” Charlie pointed towards the Horntail’s tail, and they saw long, bronze-coloured spikes protruding along it every few inches. Five of Charlie’s fellow keepers staggered up to the Horntail at that moment, carrying a clutch of huge granite-grey eggs between them in a blanket. They placed them carefully at the Horntail’s side. Hagrid let out a moan of longing.

“I’ve got them counted, Hagrid,” said Charlie, sternly.

Trusting to the fact that Hagrid wouldn’t miss them, with the attractions of five dragons and Madame Maxime to occupy him, the twins turned silently, and began to walk away, back to the castle, the bond still echoing in the silence, waiting for one of them to break it.

< Well, I did wonder how we’d die, > Hermione said conversationally. < I honestly didn’t consider dragon, but there you go. >

< Seems less of a vague plan now, doesn’t it? I mean we were wondering what Voldemort was thinking, > Harry said, feeling completely numb. < No need for him to kill us himself … just a get a … fifty-foot high, scaly, spike ridden, fire-breathing demon dragon to do it. Very efficient. > He felt like he was about to break into loud peals of hysterical laughter.

< We’re fucked, Me Me, > Hermione said. < Absolutely fucked. >

They were so caught up in their terror that they didn’t notice someone coming towards them until they ran straight into something very solid. They fell backwards, Harry clutching the Cloak as they did to ensure they remained hidden.

A voice nearby said, “Ouch! Who’s there?” Harry hastily checked that the Cloak was definitely covering them and lay very still, staring up at the dark outline of the wizard they had hit. He recognised the goatee … it was Karkaroff. “Who’s there?” said Karkaroff again, very suspiciously, looking around in the darkness. The twins remained still and silent. After a minute or so, Karkaroff seemed to decide that he had hit some sort of animal; he was looking around at waist height, as though expecting to see a dog. Then he crept back under the cover of the trees and started to edge forwards towards the place where the dragons were. Very slowly and very carefully, Harry got to his feet and helped Hermione up before setting off again, as fast as they could without making too much noise, hurrying through the darkness back towards Hogwarts. They had no doubt whatsoever what Karkaroff was up to. He had sneaked off his ship to try and find out what the first task was going to be. He might even have spotted Hagrid and Madame Maxime heading off around the Forest together – they were hardly difficult to spot at a distance … and now all Karkaroff had to do was follow the sound of voices, and he, like Madame Maxime, would know what was in store for the champions.

< So it’s only Cedric that doesn’t know what he’s facing? > Harry said.

< Well, he is the REAL Hogwarts champion, > Hermione said unkindly as they slipped back into the castle.

< Mi Mi, that’s not nice, > Harry said. < We should probably tell him … it’s the right thing to do. >

< Ugh, that is not Slytherin of you at all, > Hermione said. < Whatever … I suppose it’s the right thing to do. Come on, let’s go to the trunk. We need to talk to Sirius. >

< It’s one in the fucking morning, > Harry said.

< Well, beep beep bitch, time to wake up. His godchildren are facing dragons next week. >

-/-

“We’re fucked, Sirius,” was the first thing that left Hermione’s mouth. “We’re completely and utterly fucked!”

“Move over,” Harry said, peering into the mirror to see Sirius’ blearily looking back at them, his long black hair messed up. “She’s right though. Hagrid just showed us what’s coming in the first task, and it’s dragons, and we’re gonna fucking die!”

“Wha’s goin’ on?” mumbled Remus’ tired voice.

“Dragons!” Hermione shrieked, her voice approaching a pitch not audible to the human ear.

Harry grabbed the mirror off her and started explaining everything they’d seen that evening, detailing the different breeds of dragon they’d seen and that they apparently had to get past them. “What the hell are we going to do?” he asked desperately.

“Ok, we just have to get past them,” Sirius said. “There’ll be something we can think of … Moony, what have you got?”

Remus scrubbed at his face. “I’ve got a few different books that might be helpful,” he mused. “We’ll go through them today and we can come up with a plan tomorrow night together, ok.”

“We’ve got you, pups,” Sirius said. “Ok, you don’t have to do this alone.”


	21. The Task Approaches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're nearly at the First Task!!!  
> Thanks for everyone commenting, I love y'all
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

Harry ignored Hermione’s moaning over the bond as he chased after Cedric. By the time he reached the bottom of the marble staircase, Cedric was at the top. He was with a load of sixth-year friends, plenty of whom had been loudly quoting Skeeter’s article any time they were near the twins, and they were all wearing the POTTER STINKS badges. Cursing the urge to do the right thing, he called out Cedric’s name and watched as the entire group turned around.

“What do you want?” one of them jeered.

“None of **your** business,” Hermione sneered right back.

“We’d just like to talk to Cedric,” Harry said in a calm voice, stepping in front of his sister, and breathing a sigh of relief when Cedric waved his friends away with an exasperated sigh.

Cedric raised an eyebrow at them as Harry waited for the corridor to be empty. “Hi?” he said.

“The first task is dragons,” Harry said without any preamble.

“What?” Cedric said dumbly.

“Dragons,” he replied, speaking quickly. “They’ve got five of them, one for each of us, and we’ve got to get past them.”

Cedric stared almost blankly at them, but Hermione could see the fear flickering in his grey eyes. “Are you sure?” he said in a hushed voice. 

“Dead sure, we’ve seen them.”

“But how did you find out? We’re not supposed to know …”

“Never mind that,” Harry said quickly. “We’re not the only ones who know. Fleur and Krum know too.”

Cedric stared at them, a suspicious look taking over his face. “Why are you telling me?”

Harry looked at him in disbelief. “It’s just … well, it’s fair, isn’t it?” he said. “We all know now … we’re on an even footing.” Cedric continued to look at them in a suspicious way.

“You could try a bit of gratitude,” Hermione sniped. “Next time, we’ll just let the dragon roast you alive.”

Before Cedric could reply to that, there was a familiar clunking noise and Mad-Eye approached them. “Come with me, you two,” he growled. “Off you go, Diggory.”

< Oh great, > Hermione said. < You just had to be the noble person, didn’t you? First off, Cedric wasn’t even grateful, the stupid fucking Hufflepuff that he is … aren’t they supposed to be about fair play? And now, fucking Moody is gonna kill us for cheating. >

They followed Moody into his office who closed the door behind them and turned to look at them, his magical blue eye flicking between the two of them rapidly.

“That was a very decent thing you just did,” Moody said quietly.

< Huh, > Hermione said. < Not where I thought this was going. > Harry was equally surprised.

“Sit down,” Moody said, and the twins sat, looking around. They’d visited the office both when Lockhart and Lupin had been professors. Hermione held back a sneer at the memory of all the beaming, winking pictures of Lockhart that had plastered the walls. When Lupin had lived here, you were more likely to come across a specimen of some fascinating Dark creature he had procured for them to study in class. Now, however, the office was full of a number of exceptionally odd objects that the twins supposed Moody had used in the days when he had been an Auror.

On his desk stood what looked like a large, cracked, glass spinning top – a Sneakoscope. In the corner on a small table stood an object that looked something like an extra-squiggly, golden television aerial. It was humming slightly. What appeared to be a mirror hung opposite on the wall, but it was not reflecting the room. Shadowy figures were moving around inside it, none of them clearly in focus.

“Like my Dark detectors, do you?” Moody said, who was still watching them closely. A little too closely for either twin’s comfort.

“What’s that?” Harry asked, pointing at the squiggly golden aerial.

“Secrecy Sensor. Vibrates when it detects concealment and lies … no use here, of course, too much interference – students in every direction lying about why they haven’t done their homework. Been humming ever since I got here. I had to disable my Sneakoscope because it wouldn’t stop whistling. It’s extra sensitive, picks up stuff about a mile around. Of course, it could be picking up more than kids’ stuff,” he added in a growl.

“And what’s the mirror for?”

“Oh, that’s my Foe-Glass. See them out there, skulking around? I’m not really in trouble until I see the whites of their eyes. That’s when I open my trunk.” He let out a short, harsh laugh, and pointed to the large trunk under the window. It had seven keyholes in a row.

< Well, this is sufficiently weird, > Hermione muttered. < Why did he bring us here? >

“So … found out about the dragons, have you?” Moody said, now staring closely at them again.

< You had to ask, didn’t you? > Harry sighed, trying to decide how best to answer, or really, how best to lie.

“It’s all right,” Moody said, sitting down and stretching out his wooden leg with a groan. “Cheating’s a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and always has been … don’t worry,” he added on, seeing the look on their faces. “I’m not accusing you, and I won’t be telling anyone. I’ve been telling Dumbledore from the start – he can be as high minded as he likes, but you can bet old Karkaroff and Maxime won’t be. They’ll have told their Champions everything they can. They want to win. They want to beat Dumbledore. They’d like to prove he’s only human.” Moody gave another harsh laugh, and his magical eye swivelled around again. “So … got any ideas how you’re going to get past your dragons yet?”

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other before deciding to reply honestly. “No,” they said shortly. < Wish Dumbledore would be useful for once in his miserable life and actually help out with this, > Harry said. < Figures Fleur and Krum get help from their teachers. >

< Yeah, well, fuck Dumbledore, > Hermione said. 

“Well, I’m not going to tell you,” Moody said gruffly. “I don’t show favouritism, me. I’m just going to give you some good, general advice. And the first bit is – play to your strengths.”

< Oh good, > Hermione said. < I was worried for a moment there that we were actually going to get useful advice from an adult … day saved, thank you, Moody! >

< Why don’t you say that out loud? > Harry said. < Everyone knows your strength is the ability to start a fight with a single sentence. >

< Don’t tempt me, > Hermione said.

“My second piece of general advice,” Moody said loudly, “is to use a nice, simple spell which will enable you to get what you need.”

< There’s a simple spell that will allow us to get better lives? > Hermione exclaimed.

< Please shut up, > Harry said, trying not to laugh out loud. “Thank you, Professor Moody. That’s very helpful.”

-/-

It came to Hermione as they headed back to the Common Room and she gasped so loudly that Harry nearly tripped and fell down the stairs. Two seconds later, she shoved it into his head, and he widened his eyes. < You really are a genius, aren’t you? > he said admiringly.

< Well, one of us has to be, > she said. < Come on, we need to practice. >

After discussing and refining Hermione’s idea with Sirius and Remus, they spent the rest of the weekend down in the Chamber practicing exactly what they needed until they could perform the spells in their sleep.

-/-

They’d been so focussed on learning what they needed that some of the utter blind panic they’d been feeling had left. It returned in full measure, however, on the morning of the First Task. The atmosphere in the school was one of great tension and excitement. Lessons were to stop at midday, giving all students time to get down to the dragons’ enclosure – though of course, they didn’t yet know what they would find there. The twins felt completely separate from everyone around them, whether they were wishing them good luck or hissing insults at them, as though the bond had enveloped them in a bubble and nothing from the outside world could get in. Hermione genuinely felt like she might just completely lose the plot and start cursing everyone in sight, whereas Harry felt like he was just going to pass out. It was this state that Sirius found them in.

He frowned at the look of surprise on their faces. “First off, of course I’m going to be here,” he said. “I will always be here when you two need me. Second of all, your plans are solid. I believe in both of you … and if it even for a moment looks like it’s not going your way, I’ll be in that fucking ring murdering the dragon. I’m Lord Black now … I can murder a dragon regardless of the consequences.”

“No,” Harry said at the look on Hermione’s face. “Stick with the plan, you’re not letting Sirius kill a dragon for you.”

Time was behaving in a most peculiar fashion, rushing past in great dollops, so that it felt like no sooner had they sat down for breakfast that it was already lunch time. Professor McGonagall came hurrying over to them in the Great Hall. “Both of you, the champions have to come down into the grounds now … you have to get ready for your first task,” she said. They stood silently and Sirius made to follow, but McGonagall waved her hand. “You can’t come with them, it’s Champions only.”

Sirius barked out a laugh. “And the Champions were supposed to be of age only. Try and stop me, Minnie. See what happens.” Professor McGonagall rolled her eyes and led them all out the Great Hall.

She was leading him towards the place where the dragons were, around the edge of the Forest, but when they approached the clump of trees behind which the enclosure would be clearly visible, Harry saw that a tent had been erected, its entrance facing them, screening the dragons from view.

“Now, don’t panic,” she said, “just keep a cool head … we’ve got wizards on hand to control the situation if it gets out of hand … the main thing is just to do your best … are you both all right?”

< People have got to stop asking us that, > Harry said mutely, nodding at the professor.

“You’re to go in here with the other champions,’ said Professor McGonagall, in a rather shaky sort of voice, “and wait for your turn. Mr Bagman is in there … he’ll be telling you the – the procedure … good luck.” She turned to Sirius again. “You have to come with me now, no choice. I’ll show you where all the Champions’ families will be sitting.”

Sirius looked down at the twins, both of whom still felt like the bond was holding them in a bubble. He gathered them both up in a hug and they clung tightly to him, allowing themselves a few seconds of raw emotion to shine through, before gathering it all back up again. “I believe in you and I know you can do this,” he said softly. “And once you’ve survived this, we can go back to figuring out who did this to you … so that I can rip their throat out with my teeth.” He ruffled their hair and left with Professor McGonagall.

Harry and Hermione glanced at each other and entered the tent. Fleur Delacour was sitting in a corner on a low wooden stool. She didn’t look nearly as composed as usual, but rather pale and clammy. Viktor Krum looked even surlier than usual, which they supposed was his way of showing nerves. Cedric was pacing up and down. When they entered, he gave them a small smile, which only Harry returned, feeling the muscles in his face working rather hard, as though they had forgotten how to do it. Hermione refused to smile at anyone in the tent on principle.

“Harry! Hermione! Good-oh!” Bagman said happily, looking around at them. “Come in, come in, make yourself at home!” Bagman looked somehow like a slightly overblown cartoon figure, standing amid all the pale-faced champions. He was wearing his old Wasp robes again, and both Harry and Hermione struggled to keep the judgement off their faces.

“Well, now we’re all here – time to fill you in!” said Bagman brightly. “When the audience has assembled, I’m going to be offering each of you this bag” – he held up a small sack of purple silk and shook it at them – “from which you will each select a small model of the thing you are about to face! There are different – er – varieties, you see. And I have to tell you something else too … ah, yes … your task is to collect the golden egg!”

Cedric nodded once, to show that he understood Bagman’s words, and then started pacing around the tent again; he looked slightly green. Fleur Delacour and Krum hadn’t reacted at all. Perhaps they thought they might be sick if they opened their mouths; that was certainly how both twins felt. But they, at least, had volunteered for this … In no time at all, hundreds upon hundreds of pairs of feet could be heard passing the tent, their owners talking excitedly, laughing, joking …

< This is the most fucked up thing we’ve had to do yet, > Hermione muttered. < When I said that the Acromantulas were the worst thing ever, that wasn’t actually a fucking challenge to the universe to one up itself. >

It felt like only a few seconds later – Bagman was opening the neck of the purple silk sack. “Ladies first,” he said, offering it Fleur Delacour. She put a shaking hand inside the bag, and drew out a tiny, perfect model of a dragon – a Welsh Green. It had the number ‘two’ around its neck. And they knew, by the fact that Fleur showed no sign of surprise, but rather a determined resignation, that they had been right: Madame Maxime had told her what was coming.

Hermione was next and she put a hand in and pulled out a small black dragon with purple eyes – the Hebridean Black. It had the number ‘four’ around its neck.

Krum pulled out the scarlet Chinese Fireball. It had a number ‘three’ around its neck. He didn’t even blink, just stared at the ground.

Cedric put his hand into the bag, and out came the blueish-grey Swedish Short-Snout, the number ‘one’ tied around its neck.

Knowing what was left, Harry put his hand into the silk bag, and pulled out the Hungarian Horntail, and the number ‘five’. It stretched its wings as he looked down at it and bared its minuscule fangs. < Of fucking course one of us gets the worst dragon, > he said.

“Well, there you are!” said Bagman. “You have each pulled out the dragon you will face, and the numbers refer to the order in which you are to take on the dragons, do you see? Now, I’m going to have to leave you in a moment, because I’m commentating. Mr Diggory, you’re first, just go out into the enclosure when you hear a whistle, all right? Now … Harry, Hermione … could I have a quick word? Outside?”

“Er … what?” Harry said blankly, not even certain of what Bagman had said.

“No,” Hermione said flatly, and grabbed Harry’s hand, taking him to sit down in the tent away from Bagman.

Bagman looked like he wanted to say something more, but a whistle blew somewhere. “Good Lord, I’ve got to run!” he said in alarm and hurried off. Silence fell upon the tent, the weight of all that lay ahead utterly stifling the Champions.


	22. Hermione and the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >  
> Parseltongue is denoted by italics  
> Excited to hear your thoughts!!

The whistle blew again, and Cedric stood up, looking greener than ever, and headed towards the entrance of the tent. Fleur remained sitting while Krum kept pacing the length of the tent. The bond was now just constantly humming a high-pitched noise, the stress and emotion over-saturating it. Both twins simultaneously felt more than they’d felt before while also somehow feeling completely numb.

The loud roar of the crowd came, which meant Cedric had now entered the enclosure, and was now face to face with the living counterpart of his model …

Hermione blocked it all, retreating deep into her mind, pulling the bond around herself, but Harry couldn’t help but listen. Somehow, it was even worse than he could ever have imagined, sitting there and listening. The crowd screamed … yelled … gasped like a single many-headed entity, as Cedric did whatever he was doing to get past the Swedish Short-Snout. Krum was now staring at the ground. Fleur had taken to retracing his steps, round and round the tent. And Bagman’s commentary made everything much, much worse … horrible pictures formed in Harry’s mind, as he heard: “Oooh, narrow miss there, very narrow” … “He’s taking risks, this one!” … “Clever move – pity it didn’t work!”

And then, after about fifteen minutes, Harry heard the deafening roar that could mean only one thing: Cedric had got past his dragon and seized the golden egg.

“Very good indeed!” Bagman was shouting. “And now the marks from the judges!” But he didn’t shout out the marks; Harry supposed the judges were holding them up and showing them to the crowd.

“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled, as the whistle blew again. “Miss Delacour, if you please!” Fleur was trembling from head to foot as she left the tent with her head held high, and her hand clutching her wand.

The same process started again … “Oh, I’m not sure that was wise!” he could hear Bagman shouting gleefully. “Oh … nearly! Careful now … good Lord, I thought she’d had it then!”

Ten minutes later, Harry heard the crowd erupt into applause once more … Fleur must have been successful, too. A pause, while Fleur’s marks were being shown … more clapping … then, for the third time, the whistle.

“And here comes Mr Krum!” cried Bagman, and Krum slouched out, leaving the twins alone. Harry grabbed his sister’s hand and squeezed it, feeling far too aware of his own body, his heart pumping the seconds of his life away.

“Very daring!” Bagman was yelling, and Harry heard the Chinese Fireball emit a horrible, roaring shriek, while the crowd drew its collective breath. “That’s some nerve he’s showing – and – yes, he’s got the egg!” Applause shattered the wintery air like breaking glass; Krum had finished – it would be Hermione’s turn at any moment.

“And now for Miss Potter!” cried Bagman, and the bond jolted between them, green sparks flying off it as Hermione emerged from herself again and stood up, her eyes now glowing furiously. She cast one last look at her brother, the bond tugging between them, not wanting to let them be separated by any distance. 

< Be with me, > she said quietly as she squared her shoulders and left the tent.

< Always, Mi Mi, > Harry said. < I’m **always** in here with you. For what do we have? >

< Just me and mine, > she replied, firmly putting one foot in front of the other, feeling the comforting touch of her brother’s mind in hers as she passed the trees and approached the entrance to the enclosure.

Harry saw everything through her eyes, unsure if actually wanted to see this, but unable to leave her. Hermione looked up at the hundreds upon hundreds of faces looking down at her from the stands. Bread and circuses, she thought, curling her lip in disgust, I’m naught but a gladiator and the dragon a lion, the crowds baying for blood. She took in a deep breath and stepped into the enclosure and faced off against the dragon. A Hebridean Black. She noted the ridges along the back, the brilliant purple eyes, and the arrow-shaped spike on the end of the tail – capable of puncturing through her within a second. It was at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over a clutch of eggs, her eyes searching for any threat. Hermione smiled.

“I’m not the threat. Not here anyway,” she whispered, pulling out her wand. “I am Hermione Potter and through both lies and fate, I am the Heir of Slytherin.” With one last look up at the sky and a silent prayer, she cast the spell she’d spent so long practicing and perfecting.

_“Serpensortia!”_ she whispered. _“Serpensortia! Serpensortia!”_

Three gorgeous sleek snakes appeared before her, each of a different species, and all of them amongst the most venomous Muggle snakes worldwide. The inland taipan from Australia, a dark blackish-brown snake with enough venom in a single bite to kill one hundred men; the Mozambique spitting cobra with its beautiful hood, able to hurl venom straight into eyes with near perfect accuracy; and the black mamba, known for its aggression, agility, and lethality.

Several people had tried to talk her out of this plan, arguing that although most of the school knew she was a Parselmouth, revealing it on such an international stage could have a serious backlash against her. She had shrugged off each and every argument. Let them fear me, she thought, let them wonder what else we can do.

_“Hello, my darlings,”_ she hissed. _“You are all so beautiful! Thank you for coming to my aid today!”_

The cobra reared up to look at her more closely. _“A Speaker!”_ it crowed. _“What can we do for you, Speaker?”_

_“I’m going to make you very big,”_ she said. _“Very big indeed, because there is a nasty monster over there who means to kill us, and I want you to be big and strong enough to fight her. Can you do that for me?”_

_“Of course we can,”_ the snake sniffed in its typical superior way.

_“I will not be with you,”_ she said. _“I must steal the golden egg from the monster.”_

_“We will do what is needed, Lady Speaker,”_ the mamba said, coiling closer to her.

_“Here’s the plan,”_ she told them before raising her wand again. She tugged on the bond, feeling power flow through her as she cast again and watched as the three snakes grew and grew and grew, grew even larger than the Basilisk.

In the background, the dragon roared loudly, a hideous screech piercing everyone’s ears as she took in the new threats, her arrow spiked tail thrashing dangerously. Satisfied that all attention was off her now, Hermione took off sprinting around the side of the enclosure, keeping a close eye as her three snakes took off towards the dragon. As planned, the mamba was first to reach the dragon, rearing up and hissing furiously at the dragon, showing her its black mouth in a threat display, before dodging as the dragon released a great jet of fire towards her. The mamba and the taipan split and attacked the dragon from both sides, each of them striking like lightning before retreating, baiting the dragon over and over. Hermione slowed down as she approached the battle and cautiously crept forward, waiting for the dragon to move further away from her nest. The taipan was now wrapped around the neck of the dragon and she was roaring furiously as she scrabbled against the snake while the mamba kept striking in and out, dodging each jet of fire.

The battle continued until … finally what Hermione was waiting for, as the Hebridean Black took two more steps away from her nest in an attempt to close her jaws around the mamba. As she did, the cobra reared up and flared its hood out, hissing dangerously before letting the venom fly.

Hermione took off, pushing herself faster and faster, completely focussed on the golden egg in front of her. She could feel each breath of air that she desperately inhaled as she pumped her legs, ignoring the titanic battle only a few metres away, trusting in her snakes … and then suddenly, there it was. The golden egg.

Allowing one last look behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief to see no huge dragon about to eat her, and grabbing the egg, she sprinted towards the exit, not stopping until she was past the enclosure. She had done it!

She collapsed down on the ground, still holding the egg, as a wave of exhaustion swept over her. She was vaguely aware of noises coming from the stands but kept them still blocked out, reaching only for the bond and letting the comforting presence of her brother slowly ease her heart rate back down.


	23. Harry and the Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas + Happy New Year to y'all  
> Apologies I'm a bit late, I've worked the entire festive period so far. 
> 
> It's Harry's turn to face the dragon
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Let me know what y'all think :) :) xx

Harry had kept half his mind in his own body, listening to Bagman’s commentary and the crowd’s reaction as his sister faced off against the dragon. It took everything he had not to take off after her, the idea of letting her face such a dangerous enemy alone tearing at his very being. The crowd had gone completely silent as Hermione had enlarged the snakes. “By the gods,” Bagman gasped, “she’s a Parselmouth!”

Listening to the loud shrieks and roars of the dragon was torture, and Harry had never been more thankful for the bond, knowing that his sister was safe, being able to see through her eyes as her snakes perfectly executed her plan. He allowed his energy to flow across the bond, giving what he could to her tired muscles as she eventually successfully grabbed the Golden Egg and fled the enclosure.

“Would you look at that?!” Bagman exclaimed. “Not a scratch on our youngest Champion at all. Remarkable!”

< I’m proud of you, Mi Mi, > he said, easing back into his own mind as Hermione slowly calmed down. Knowing Sirius was coming for her, he allowed his mind to clear as he waited to his own whistle.

-/-

“Yeh did it, Hermione!” Hagrid cried. “Yeh really did it!”

“Thanks Hagrid,” Hermione said, starting to feel uncomfortable now that all the panic and adrenaline was wearing off, not used to not having Harry by her side. She could see Sirius hurriedly making his way towards her from the stands, the dragon-keepers still fixing up the arena.

“That was some very impressive casting, Miss Potter,” Professor McGonagall said, high praise from her indeed. “You need to go over to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score.”

“I’m not moving from this spot until Harry is here,” Hermione said bluntly. “I’m not hurt … the judges can give me my scores, I don’t care. But I need to be here for when Harry comes out.”

“Pup!” came Sirius and he swept her up into a hug, lifting her off the ground. She noticed he was shaking slightly as he put her back down. “Incredible work,” he said quietly. “I’m so proud of you. Are you OK? Are you hurt at all?”

Hermione shook her head. “I’m OK. I just want Harry to do his bit so we can put this whole thing behind us.”

< Did you destroy the whole arena? > came Harry’s voice. < What’s taking so long? >

< I’m just about to get my scores, > she said. < And it took a while to get rid of the snakes. > She laughed meanly at that.

Sirius put his arm around her as the judges indicated they were about to give their scores. “It’s out of ten,” he said. They watched quietly as Madame Maxine gave her an 8, Crouch and Dumbledore gave her a 9, and Bagman gave her a 10. Both of them snarled at the same time as Karkaroff gave her a 6. “It’s not impartial at all,” he sneered. “Fucking Death Eater scum.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said, shaking it off. “We’re not actually trying to win – we just want to survive.”

Before Sirius could reply, the whistle blew.

< Me Me, > Hermione cried.

< Be with me, Mi, > Harry said, as he exited the tent, feeling his own panic starting to surge again as he made his way towards the enclosure.

< Me and Mi, > Hermione said fervently. < Always me and mine. You’ve got this, and I’m always here with you.”

Harry looked up at the hundreds of faces staring down at him, at the Horntail at the other end of the enclosure, crouched low over her clutch of eggs, her wings half furled, her evil yellow eyes upon him, thrashing her spiked tail, leaving yard-long gouge marks in the hard ground. He looked past her, towards the complete other end of the enclosure, seeing his sister well off in the distance. He let out a long slow breath, tugging on the bond and letting the magic flow through him, making him stronger and stronger … and he raised his wand.

“ _Accio_ Firebolt!” he shouted.

Before he had time to worry that he had failed, he heard it, speeding through the air behind him, feeling Hermione’s exultation. < You were born to fly, brother mine, > she said. < Show them what you can do. >

He turned and saw his Firebolt hurtling towards him around the edge of the woods, soaring into the enclosure, and stopping dead in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount. The crowd was making even more noise … Bagman was shouting something … but Harry wrapped the bond around himself, blocking off the entire world except the air, the bond, and the dragon ... listening wasn't important. He swung his leg over the broom and kicked off from the ground. And a second later, something miraculous happened …

As he soared upwards, as the wind rushed through his hair, as the crowd’s faces became mere flesh-coloured pinpricks below, and the Horntail shrank to the size of a dog, he realised that he had left not only the ground behind, but also his fear … he was back where he belonged … the bond now rippling calmly between him and his sister. He smiled, letting all his teeth show as he whipped through the air. Hermione’s right, he thought, let them fear us.

He looked down at the clutch of eggs and spotted the gold one, gleaming against its cement-coloured fellows, residing safely between the dragon’s front legs.

He dived. The Horntail’s head followed him; he knew what it was going to do, and pulled out of the dive just in time; a jet of fire had been released exactly where he would have been had he not swerved away … but Harry didn’t care … that was no more than dodging a Bludger … easier than dodging a Basilisk. 

“Great Scott, he can fly!” yelled Bagman, as the crowd shrieked and gasped. “Are you watching this, Mr Krum?”

Harry soared higher in a circle; the Horntail was still following his progress; its head revolving on its long neck – if he kept this up, it would be nicely dizzy – but better not push it too long, or it would be breathing fire again – Harry plummeted just as the Horntail opened its mouth, but this time he was less lucky – he missed the flames, but the tail came whipping up to meet him instead, and as he swerved to the left, one of the long spikes grazed his shoulder, ripping his robes –

He could feel it stinging, but immediately Hermione was there, taking all his pain from him as he zoomed around the back of the Horntail. The cut didn’t seem to be deep, so he focussed back on the dragon. < You're fine, Me Me, > Hermione whispered, < I've got you. >

The Horntail didn’t seem to want to take off, she was too protective of her eggs. Though she writhed and twisted, furling and unfurling her wings and keeping those fearsome yellow eyes on Harry, she was afraid to move too far from them … but he had to persuade her to do it, or he’d never get near them … the trick was to do it carefully, gradually … He began to fly, first this way, then the other, not near enough to make her breathe fire to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient threat to ensure ensure she kept her eyes on him. Her head swayed this way and that, watching him out of those vertical pupils, her fangs bared … He flew higher. The Horntail’s head rose with him, her neck now stretched to its fullest extent, still swaying, like a snake before its charmer … Harry rose a few more feet, and she let out a roar of exasperation.

He was like a fly to her, a fly she was longing to swat; her tail thrashed again, but he was too high to reach now … she shot fire into the air, which he dodged … her jaws opened wide …

< Come on, > Harry hissed, swerving tantalisingly above her, < come on, come and get me … up you get, now …>

And then she reared, spreading her great black leathery wings at last, as wide as those of a small aeroplane – and Harry dived. Before the dragon knew what he had done, or where he had disappeared to, he was speeding towards the ground as fast as he could go, towards the eggs now unprotected by her clawed, front legs – he had taken his hands off his Firebolt – he had seized the golden egg!

With a huge spurt of speed, he was off, heading straight for his sister, the heavy egg safely under his uninjured arm. For the first time, he became properly aware of the noise of the crowd, which was screaming and applauding loudly. “Look at that!” Bagman was yelling. “Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!”

He jumped off his broom and into his sister’s arms and they whirled around, the bond sparking loudly between them, overflowing with all the stress of the day. Behind them, the dragon-keepers rushed forwards in order to subdue the Horntail. He let go of Hermione and was immediately swept into another hug by Sirius and he saw both McGonagall and Hagrid hurrying over to them.

“That was excellent, Potter!” cried Professor McGonagall. He noticed that her hand shook as she pointed at his shoulder. “You’ll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score … over there, she’s had to mop up Diggory already …”

“Yeh did it, Harry!” said Hagrid hoarsely. “Yeh did it! An’ agains’ the Horntail an’ all, an’ yeh know Charlie said that was the wors’ –“

“Thanks, Hagrid,” said Harry loudly, so that Hagrid wouldn’t blunder on and reveal that he had shown Harry and Hermione the dragons beforehand.

“Right then, Potter - both of you, since Miss Potter refused the first time - the first-aid tent, please …” said Professor McGonagall.

They walked towards the tent, Sirius with both his arms around the twins. Madam Pomfrey was standing at the mouth of the tent, looking worried. “Dragons!” she said, in a disgusted tone, pulling them all inside.

The tent was divided into cubicles; they could make out Cedric’s shadow through the canvas, but Cedric didn’t seem to be badly injured; he was sitting up, at least. Madam Pomfrey examined Harry’s shoulder, talking furiously all the while. “Last year Dementors, this year dragons, what are they going to bring into this school next? You’re very lucky … this is quite shallow … it’ll need cleaning before I heal it up, though …”

She cleaned the cut with a dab of some purple liquid which smoked and stung, but then poked his shoulder with her wand, and he felt it heal instantly. “Now, just sit quietly for a minute – sit! And then you can go and get your score.” She bustled out and went into Diggory’s cubicle. “How does it feel now, Diggory?”

“You two were brilliant,” Sirius said, quietly enough so that wouldn’t be overheard. “Truly, I’m not even saying this as your godfather … you were the best out there. Hermione, you didn’t even get injured, and Harry, you were the fastest out of all of them.”

“Of course we were the best,” Hermione sniffed, before breaking out into giggles. < Oh gods, I was so scared, Me. It feels fine now, but standing in that enclosure without you … then feeling the tail spike drag through you … >

< I was scared out of my fucking mind, > Harry said. < But we did it … so a big fuck you to Voldemort. Not even a dragon can kill us. >

Picking up their Golden Eggs, they ducked back out of the tent to go and get Harry’s scores, Sirius filling them in on what the other contestants had done. Turned out, Cedric had transfigured a rock into a dog, but the dragon decided halfway to go after him, and he got half his body burnt. Hermione had laughed very loudly over the bond when she’d heard that.

“Honestly,” she said, “I’m surprised he made it at all. Why would a dragon go after a dog? But you know … he is the **real** Hogwarts Champion.” Sirius had laughed loudly at her cutting words, before continuing on.

“The French girl did some impressive spellwork, really,” he said. “Put the dragon into a trance, which I didn’t even know was possible … but when it snored, a huge jet of fire shot out and set her skirt on fire … and then Krum hit the dragon straight with a Conjunctivitis Curse but unfortunately, the dragon then trampled half of its real eggs … and it’s an endangered species, so he got a lot of marks taken off for that … well, not by Karkaroff. He gave him a ten, but whatever.”

As they waited for Harry’s scores, they saw some people peel out of the stands and start heading towards them. Pansy, Daphne, Neville, Ginny, Fred, and George reached them just as Madame Maxine gave him an 8. As with Hermione, Crouch and Dumbledore gave him a 9 while Bagman gave him a 10. Hermione and Ginny hissed furiously as Karkaroff gave Harry a 4 however and Sirius had a dark look on his face, but Harry didn’t care. He was just happy to have survived.

“You’re in first place Hermione!” Pansy crowed, and her and Daphne threw their arms around the other girl, jumping up and down in a most un-Slytherin like manner.

“And Harry, you’re tied in second place with Krum,” Neville said.

“Cedric’s in last place,” Ginny said, a mean smile on her and her brothers’ faces.

“You two were so incredible,” Pansy said, beaming at them both.

“Watching the dragon being taken down by those snakes was pretty amazing,” George said.

“Even better was the looks on everyone’s faces,” Fred said, a wicked smile on his face. “A prank of epic proportions, really, revealing your Parselmouth like that … I can’t wait to see which way the newspaper tries to spin it.”

Hermione hissed at him while smiling. “I’m happy to set a snake on anyone who dislikes it,” she said. “Being a Parselmouth is the best!” She winked at Ginny covertly who smiled back.

“We’ve gotta go back to the tent for a bit,” Harry said. “Bagman wants a word about the Second Task.”

Sitting down in the tent, the twins let themselves breathe, the bond settling comfortably between them. Fleur, Cedric, and Krum all came in together. Hermione fought to keep a blank look – one side of Cedric’s face was covered in a thick orange paste, which was presumably mending his burn. She snickered meanly to Harry about it. < Imagine if we hadn’t told him about the dragons at all, > she said.

“Well done, all of you!” Ludo Bagman said, bouncing into the tent, and looking as pleased as though he personally had just got past a dragon. “Now, just a quick few words. You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth – but we’re giving you something to think about in the meantime! If you look down at those golden eggs you’re all holding, you will see that they open … see the hinges there? You need to solve the clue inside the egg – because it will tell you what the second task is and enable you to prepare for it! All clear? Sure? Well, off you go, then!”

The twins left the tent and rejoined Sirius and their friends, and they all started to walk back around the edge of the Forest, talking animatedly about the Task. As they rounded the clump of trees, a witch leapt out from behind them. It was Rita Skeeter. She was wearing acid-green robes today and she held a matching quill in her hand.

“Harry, Hermione,” she said, beaming at them. “Congratulations! I wonder if you could give me a quick word? How you felt facing the dragons? How you feel now about the fairness of the scoring? How you decided which way to face them?”

Before Hermione or Sirius could jump in and completely eviscerate the witch, Harry was all too happy to answer. “Of course, you can have a word, Rita. Two words, even,” he said, smiling back at the witch. “Fuck off.”

And they set off back to the castle with their friends, laughing the whole way.


	24. Vengeance Shall Be Sevenfold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Years everyone!! 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >  
> Parseltongue is denoted by italics

The twins watched nervously as the usual morning owls swept into the Great Hall that morning. Despite Hermione’s assurances that she didn’t care what anyone wrote about them, Harry could feel the vague thrum of nerves humming through the bond.

< It’s fine, Mi Mi, > he muttered. < We can just kill Skeeter if needed. >

< Don’t tempt me, > Hermione said, moving her porridge back and forth around the bowl without eating any of it.

< Hey, > Harry said firmly. < It won’t be the worst thing anyone has ever said or written about us, and irregardless, it doesn’t matter. >

Hermione grabbed the newspaper as one was dropped down in front of Draco before he could even reach for it and opened it, eyes scanning back and forth furiously. Emotions flickered between calm, pride, and then quickly into fury as she read through the article.

< What? > Harry said bluntly.

< They basically haven’t mentioned the other contestants at all, > Hermione said.

< Great, that will do wonders for our popularity, > Harry groaned. < So clearly it’s about us … just tell me, Mi. >

< It’s actually quite glowing about you, > Hermione said quietly. < Talks about your flying ability, rehashes the old stuff about defeating Voldemort … >

< And? >

< What everyone said would happen, > Hermione said. Losing his patience, he grabbed the newspaper out of his sister’s hands and read through it. It was indeed fairly glowing about him … but certainly less so about his sister. He could feel his own fury rise as he read the article further.

_Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes, has long been considered a Dark Art. Indeed, the most famous Parselmouth of our times is none other than You-Know-Who himself. A member of the Dark Force Defence League, who wished to remain unnamed, stated that he would regard any witch who could speak Parseltongue ‘as worthy of investigation. Personally, I would be highly suspicious of anybody who could converse with snakes, as serpents are often used in the worst kinds of Dark Magic and are historically associated with evil-doers.’ Similarly, ‘anyone who seeks out the company of such Dark creatures would appear to have a fondness for violence’._

_This certainly casts doubts upon her suitability to compete in a competition like the Triwizard Tournament, or even to attend Hogwarts school, but more importantly, we must ask ourselves. Should she be allowed to continue to be so close to her brother, given her clear predilection for the Dark Arts?_

< I’ll kill her, > Harry said matter-of-factly, allowing a flare of the bond to set the paper alight, his face blank as smoke curled up. < And I’ll kill whoever is talking about us to her … there’s stuff in there about the Chamber and all the events of second year. >

< No, Me Me, > Hermione protested, falling into Harry’s usual role of the voice of reason. < It’s fine … it’s like I said at the start, it doesn’t matter what they write. I’m proud to be a Parselmouth. >

< She’s writing like she doesn’t think I’m also a Parselmouth … > Harry said angrily. < I don’t get it, what’s her angle? What is she trying to do … tear us apart or something? >

< Good twin, bad twin is a vaguely interesting twist, > Hermione said. < People will probably lap that up. >

Harry had a very uncharacteristic ugly look on his face. < How dare she? > he seethed. < She’s going to get what’s fucking coming for her. Predilection for the Dark Arts, hey? I’ll fucking show her. >

< Hey, I’m the hot-headed one here, > Hermione said. < She will get what’s coming for her … come on, Me Me. > She tugged on the bond, trying to get him to calm down, eyeing the tense lines of his body, his hands clenched into fists. < I mean, I can't believe she didn't go after both of us. You even told her to fuck off. What's a guy got to do to get Rita to write badly about him? > she tried to joke. 

< She’s trying to turn people against you, > Harry argued. < I won’t stand for it. First chance I get … >

-/-

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Draughty though the castle always was in winter, the twins were glad of its fires and thick walls every time they passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. They thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly, too. Hagrid was keeping Madame Maxime’s horses well provided with their preferred drink of single-malt whisky; the fumes wafting from the trough in the corner of their paddock were enough to make the entire Care of Magical Creatures class lightheaded. This was unhelpful, as they were still tending the horrible Skrewts, and needed their wits about them.

“I’m not sure whether they hibernate or not,” Hagrid told the shivering class in the windy pumpkin patch next lesson. “Thought we’d jus’ try an’ see if they fancied a kip … We’ll jus’ settle ‘em down in these boxes …”

There were now only ten Skrewts left; apparently their desire to kill each other had not been exercised out of them. Each of them was now approaching six feet in length. Their thick grey armour, their powerful scuttling legs, their fire-blasting ends, their stings and their suckers, combined the make the Skrewts the most repulsive things anyone in the class had ever seen. They all looked dispiritedly at the enormous boxes Hagrid had brought out, all lined with pillows and fluffy blankets.

“We’ll jus’ lead ‘em in here,” Hagrid said, “an’ put the lids on, and we;’ll see what happens.”

< I know exactly what is going to happen, > Hermione moaned. She was right, as usual. The Skrewts did not appreciate being forced into pillow-lined boxes and nailed in. Hagrid was soon yelling ‘Don’ panic, now, don’ panic!’ while the Skrewts rampaged around the pumpkin patch, now strewn with the smouldering wreckage of the boxes. Hagrid launched himself forward on top of one of the Skrewts and flattened it; a blast of fire shot out of its end, withering the pumpkin plants nearby. At that, the entire class took off running, all of them sprinting back towards the castle. That left only the twins and Hagrid and a swarm of furious Skrewts.

< Fucking hell, > Harry said. < We should have run with the rest of them. >

< Voldemort should just breed these things, > Hermione panted, as she dodged the sparks being spat at her by one of the Skrewts. < They’d be more effective than a dragon, at this rate. >

“Jus’ try an’ slip the rope around his sting, so he won’ hurt any o’ the others!” Hagrid shouted, as one of the Skrewts advanced on them, its sting arched, quivering over its back.

< Fucking gods forbid it hurt another Skrewt, > Harry panted.

“Well, well, well … this does look like fun.” The twins whirled around to see Rita Skeeter leaning on Hagrid’s garden fence, looking in at the mayhem. She was wearing a thick magenta cloak with a furry purple collar today, and her crocodile-skin handbag was over her arm.

< Wrong move, Rita, > Harry snarled. < Going to go after Hagrid now? > His eyes started to gleam as he scoped out the reporter, wondering what her move was this time.

“Who’re you?” Hagrid asked, as he slipped a loop of rope around the Skrewt’s sting and tightened it.

“Rita Skeeter, Daily Prophet reporter,” Rita replied, beaming at him. Her gold teeth glinted.

“Thought Dumbledore said you weren’ allowed inside the school anymore?” Hagrid said, frowning slightly.

Rita acted as though she hadn’t heard what Hagrid had said. “What are these fascinating creatures called?” she asked, beaming still more widely.

“Blast-ended Skrewts,” grunted Hagrid.

“Really?” Rita said, apparently full of lively interest. “I’ve never heard of them before … where do they come from?”

< Oh no, > Hermione said, noticing a dull red flush rising up out of Hagrid’s wild black beard, fully regretting not running with the rest of the class.

“They are quite interesting, aren’t they?” Harry piped up, walking towards Rita with a big smile on his face.

Rita’s eyes gleamed as she turned on the twins. “Hello Harry,” she said, acting like Hermione wasn’t there. “So you like Care of Magical Creatures, do you? One of your favourite lessons?”

“Yes,” Harry said stoutly. “We love it, Hagrid’s a great teacher.” He took a deep breath in. < I’m going to kill Hagrid … he’s definitely cross-bred these demons. >

< Which is fucking illegal, > Hermione said. < If Rita finds out, then he’s completely screwed. Crossbreeding magical creatures carries huge penalties. >

< She won’t write another article if I have anything to say about it, > Harry said, still smiling at Rita. “It’s a really useful class … we love learning about magical snakes, obviously with my sister being a Parselmouth. Say, perhaps you’d be interested in meeting her pet snake, Rita? We’d love to show you and talk more about it.”

< I’m going to kill Hagrid, > Hermione said, as Rita looked like she was going to explode with excitement. < What’s your plan here? > she asked nervously, a dangerous note now buzzing through the bond.

< I mean, if worse comes to worse, maybe I’ll just Stun her and lock her in the trunk, > Harry said.

< Mmm, that’s illegal, > Hermione said. < This is why I come up with the plans. >

< Just bring out Kid, would you? > Harry said, as he started walking back up to the castle with Rita, leading her away from Hagrid and his clearly illegal cross-bred pets. Hermione glanced around the grounds, hoping no-one was watching from the Beauxbatons carriage in case Harry really did commit a crime, before calling Kid out of her satchel.

_“It’s cold out here,”_ her snake hissed grumpily.

_“I know, Kid, but Harry has some terrible hare-brained scheme, and needs to show you off to this lady,”_ Hermione replied, holding her arm out towards Rita, noting with a sense of satisfaction the brief look of fear in her eyes.

“So, when did you realise your sister was a Parselmouth?” Rita asked Harry. “What did your guardians think? Paint a whole picture for me, I’d be so interested in knowing more about your childhood in general.”

_“She smells funny,”_ Kid hissed, looking curiously at Rita. 

Hermione frowned, tuning out Harry’s bland answer. _“What do you mean?”_

_“Like the dog-man but different,”_ Kid said, extending her head to sniff again.

Hermione’s eyes widened. _“Are you saying she smells like Sirius?”_ She watched as Kid scrunched her nose up slightly, tongue flicking out again.

_“Dog-man smells like predator,”_ she said. _“This one smells like prey.”_

_“But different from a normal human,”_ Hermione clarified, her mounting excitement tugging on the bond, causing Harry to stop and look at her, sending a quick question mark over the bond.

_“Human and prey,”_ Kid said, slithering up Hermione’s arm, seeking a warm pocket to curl up in.

< We’ve fucking got her, > Hermione said triumphantly.

< Explain, > Harry said. < I wasn’t listening. >

< She’s an illegal Animagus, > Hermione exclaimed.

< Excuse me? >

< She smells like Sirius but different. Like prey according to Kid. Bet she’s a fucking rat like Wormtail … sneaking her way into things, stealing what isn’t hers. > Hermione was now starting to bare her teeth at Rita, who was looking more alarmed as the silence continued, Harry and Hermione’s eyes flicking back and forth. < Kid says she smells like prey. >

< So she’s an Animagus? > Harry said. < That’s not actually illegal. >

< It is if you’re not registered, > Hermione said. < And she’s not registered … she wasn’t when we looked all that up last year. No fucking way she’s become an Animagus in less than a year. She’s not that fucking talented. >

Harry laughed, the noise cutting through the tension, and turned back to Rita. “You know, it’s funny,” he said. “Because I know you were in Slytherin too, so I didn’t really understand why you were going after us … but I guess loyalty just isn’t in your DNA. Unfortunately for you, it’s very much in mine.” 

“I mean, don’t get us wrong,” Hermione said, now pacing around Rita, watching as the confusion grew on her face, a flicker of fear entering her eyes. “In terms of ambition, A plus. A sure-fire way to achieve your goals … if your goal is to ruin people’s lives with your sensationalism and your gossip. If your goal is to sell lies.”

“What are you talking about?” Rita snapped. “I knew you were deranged … the moment you cast that spell. People like you shouldn’t be allowed.”

_“Serpensortia!”_ came Harry’s voice, and Rita whirled around as a snake erupted from the end of Harry’s wand. “I know you were worried … what if my sister’s … what were the words you used? Oh, that’s right … my sister’s clear predilection for the Dark Arts. I understand you were worried they might corrupt me.”

“That’s so nice of you to care about my brother, Rita,” Hermione said, her voice sugar sweet. “But that’s my job, not yours.”

“We know your secret, Rita,” they said together, coming to a standstill next to each other, the conjured snake following after them. “And what a secret it is! Hard to believe no-one’s figured it out yet.”

“Although, again,” Harry said, “we are quite rare, indeed.” He sighed, tilting his head at the reporter who looked speechless. “For someone so smart, I don’t understand why you’d write something so dumb. Why would my twin sister be able to speak Parseltongue, and not me?”

Hermione saw the exact moment it clicked in Rita’s mind, watched as her eyes searched around the isolated grounds, but Harry had led them far away from wandering eyes.

_“Hello, little one,”_ Harry crooned. _“When I say so, I want you to bite that lady right there, if that’s alright?”_

_“Of course, Speaker,”_ the snake replied, turning to face Rita, fangs bared.

He straightened up and looked Rita dead in the eyes, allowing the bond to glow through. “One chance, Rita. We know you’re an illegal Animagus. Turn now, or this snake will bite you … and I’m not sure what type it is. Will it kill you in 30 seconds or 30 minutes? Who knows?” He smiled at the reporter again.

Hermione was ready the moment she plunged her hands into her robes, and one quick _‘Expelliarmus!’_ later, had joined Harry in baring all her teeth at her. “Nice try,” she snarled. “Does that count as her one chance, do you think? Should we just let her be bitten?”

“Hmmm,” Harry said, making a show of thinking about it, and with a flash of light Rita disappeared, a large beetle appearing in her place.

Ten seconds later, and Hermione had conjured a glass jar and slammed Rita into it as the beetle tried to fly away, casting a quick Unbreakable Charm on it before jamming it into her satchel as Harry Vanished the conjured snake.

< I do enjoy your ‘predilection for the Dark Arts’, Mi Mi, > Harry laughed as they sauntered back to the castle.

< Hey, all I did was cast the Expelliarmus, > Hermione giggled. < Who knew you could be so scary? >

< Hey, you don’t own scary, > Harry said, before a serious look came over his face. < In all honesty, Mi, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. I know we’ve come so far … that we’ve got more of a family now, friends, pets … but at the end of it all, it’s really only you. >

< You think I’m not the same? > Hermione demanded. < What do we always say? What’s the only thing we truly have? … Me and Mi, me and mine. >

< Me and mine, > Harry echoed back. < Come on, let’s go get warm. >

Hermione laughed out loud briefly as they trudged through the snow. < I must admit, it's been too long since we've got revenge like that. Remember when we first read Matilda? How we wanted to get revenge on everyone ... remember when we put itching powder in Dudley's pants? >

< Gods, imagine if we put itching powder in Snape's pants, > Harry laughed. < He'd definitely murder us. >


	25. Dares and Dancing and Drama

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Sound off below and lemme know what y'all think :)

“Potter, Potter,” came Snape’s harsh voice towards the end of their Potions lesson. “Kindly stay behind at the end of the lesson.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other over their cauldron and then down to their potion which was smoking as it was meant to. Hermione grabbed the textbook and read back over it quickly. < We did this all correctly, > she said. < What does the old bat want? >

< Something fucking awful, no doubt, > Harry muttered darkly, as he stirred anti-clockwise seven times.

He was proved right the moment Snape opened his mouth as the rest of the class filed out. “The rest of your House will be told tonight, but I was instructed to tell you two specifically as Champions. Hogwarts will be hosting a Yule Ball this year as it is a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament. It’s open to fourth-years and above – although you may invite a younger student if you wish.”

Hermione frowned. “Why did you need to tell us that specifically?”

“Because as Champions, you will be opening the Ball with your partner,” Snape said. “Obviously, I am thrilled to be the one to bring you such great news.” At that, he swept out of the classroom, before either twin could say another word.

< Opening the Ball? > Harry said. < What the fuck does that mean? Like cutting a ribbon? >

< No, you idiot, > Hermione said. < He means dancing. >

< DANCING? > Harry exclaimed, looking horrified. < Helloooo, why aren’t you panicking? Neither of us know how to dance. >

< Oh shit, > Hermione said, horror dawning on her face. < Hang on … partners? >

< Huh? > Harry said.

< He said partners. We have to take a partner, > Hermione said.

< You mean … like a person? >

< No, like Dobby the fucking House-Elf, > Hermione snapped. < Yes, a fucking person. >

Harry sat in stunned silence as the entire situation unfolded in his mind. < Well … I mean, do you think … >

< No, we cannot go with each other, > Hermione said. < We have enough weird rumours as it is. >

< I wish the dragon had killed me, > Harry said mournfully.

-/-

It seemed as though everyone in Hogwarts had put their name down to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas, a fact that Hermione was furiously sulking about. < This means we can’t relax together in the common room like we’ve done the past three years, > she said. < And we can’t even like go home to see Sirius and Remus and have something like a normal Christmas either, because of this stupid Tournament. >

< Yeah, well, we always get the worst of both worlds, > Harry said, eyeing off everyone as they trudged through the corridors towards the Great Hall. < But whinging isn’t going to change anything … since you’ve ruled out us going together, we need to find a partner. >

< Partners, > Hermione said. < We can’t go with the same person either. >

< Fuck your grammar, Mi, > Harry said. < This is a real problem. >

< Me Me, > Hermione said, a smile playing at her lips. < I know exactly who you’re going to take. >

< Gods, skip to the part where you just tell me, > Harry said, rolling his eyes.

< It’s good, > Hermione said. < Good on multiple levels. It’s someone we actually like, I know they can dance, and … well, it has the added benefit of pissing off Draco, who I still haven’t gotten back at for ratting out what we said about putting our names in the Goblet. >

Harry came to a standstill. < Do you mean Pansy? >

< I have it all worked out, > Hermione said, an annoyingly superior air in her voice. < You’ll take Pansy. Neville will take Ginny, and - >

< And who are you going to take, sweet sister? > Harry asked. < Do I get to pick? >

< No, you have terrible ideas, > Hermione said.

Harry grinned at her, baring all his teeth. < And yet, I know exactly who you’re going to take. You’re right … I will ask Pansy. You know me … but I know you. >

< Just spit it out and enjoy being wrong, > Hermione snarled, a laugh dancing on her face.

< You’re going to ask Fred Weasley, > Harry said, crowing over the bond as the look on his sister’s face told him he was right. < Mmm, that was fun. I see why you like being right all the time. >

< Shut the fuck up, > Hermione said, crossing her arms in a huff. < Stupid telepathic bond. >

Harry clicked his teeth. < Last one to ask their chosen partner out has to organise the Christmas present for Sirius and Remus? > he asked, and then immediately took off before Hermione could reply.

< You fucker, > she howled. < We both know Pansy is in the Common Room … hang on … HA! I have the Map, you loser. > She realised she was still standing there. “Fuck,” she whispered, as she rifled furiously for the Map, feeling Harry still sprinting along the corridors through the bond. “FUCK! I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” she hissed at the Map, searching quickly for Fred’s name, hoping he wasn’t in the Gryffindor Common Room … there! He was down on the Quidditch Pitch. With a furious zap down the bond, she raced off.

< No chance, bitch, > Harry crowed. < I’m nearly at the Common Room. >

< Oh yeah? > Hermione shot back. < You’ve still got to figure out a way to ask her, you know. It’s not like she’ll be alone! Gods, I hope she’s inside the girls dormitory. >

< And I hope Fred is high up in the air and can’t hear you, > Harry replied.

< I’ve got one of your goddamn brooms, > Hermione huffed. < I’m always fucking prepared, and I’m going to ask Fred before you even work up the courage to ask Pansy. > She hurtled through the Entrance Hall and dragged out the broom, cursing furiously at the thought of having to fly, but hating the thought of losing even more.

< The fact that you’re gonna fly and **still** lose makes this even better, > Harry said, and shoved the image of Daphne and Pansy sitting together in the Common Room across the bond. He quickly scoped out the rest of the Common Room before trying to fix his messy hair, feeling like he may be about to face another Hungarian Horntail. What if someone had already asked her?

< Fuck this, I am not losing, > Hermione said, and whipped her wand out. _“Sonorus!”_

< Oh, fuck no, > Harry said, and sprang forward.

“Will you go to the ball with me?” they said at the same time, Hermione yelling it out across the entire Quidditch Pitch, causing every head to turn towards her. Back in the Common Room, Pansy and Daphne turned towards Harry, their eyebrows knitting together. Harry realised he hadn’t actually said a name.

< FUCK! > Hermione screeched. < Goddamn this telepathic bond. I can’t believe I just embarrassed myself in public and didn’t win. If he says no, I’m going to come and beat you to death with this broom. >

< Shut up, > Harry said. < And I definitely said it before you did, so you lost. > He smiled nervously at Pansy. “Sorry for kind of shouting that,” he said, swallowing. “Pansy, I would be deeply honoured if you’d go to the Yule Ball with me. Are you free that night?”

“Oh,” Pansy said, raising an eyebrow, as Daphne broke out into giggles. She watched as he sweated for a moment before breaking out into a smile. “I’d really like that, Harry. Thank you for asking.”

< Suck it, > he crowed.

< Shut UP, > Hermione bitched. She pushed her hair out of the way, cursing the broom and the wind and her brother as Fred flew towards her.

“Did I hear that correctly?” Fred asked, a cheeky grin across his face.

“Don’t be clever,” she snapped. “The entire Quidditch Pitch heard it correctly.” She took a deep breath in. “But … well, would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me? I think it’d be fun, and we could definitely spike the punch.”

< No, > Harry said. < We will not be spiking the goddamn punch. >

“I would be honoured, Hermione,” Fred said.

“Great. Now, do you know how to dance?”

-/-

The last week of term became increasingly boisterous as it progressed. Rumours about the Yule Ball were flying everywhere, though the twins didn’t believe half of them – for instance, that Dumbledore had bought eight hundred barrels of mulled mead from Madam Rosmerta. It seemed to be fact, however, that he had booked the Weird Sisters. Exactly who or what the Weird Sisters were, they didn’t know, never having bothered with a wizard’s wireless before.

Some of the teachers, like little Professor Flitwick, gave up trying to teach them much when their minds were so clearly elsewhere; he allowed them to play games in his lesson on Wednesday. Other teachers were not so generous. Nothing would ever deflect Professor Binns, for example, from ploughing on through his notes on goblin rebellions – as Binns hadn’t let his own death stand in the way of continuing to teach, they supposed a small thing like Christmas wasn’t going to put him off. It was amazing how he could make even bloody and vicious goblin riots sound as boring as grave dirt. Professors McGonagall and Moody kept them working until the very last second of their classes, too, and Snape, of course, would no sooner let them play games in class than adopt Hermione. Staring nastily around at them all, he informed them that he would be testing them on poison antidotes during the last lesson of the term.

< Ugh, what a git, > Hermione said. < I’m not turning up to that lesson. You know he’ll pick me to poison. >

< It’s your charming personality, > Harry said.

The Hogwarts staff, demonstrating a continued desire to impress the visitors from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, seemed determined to show the castle at its best this Christmas. When the decorations went up, the twins noticed that they were the most stunning they had yet seen inside the school. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armour had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them. It was quite something to hear ‘Oh Come, All Ye Faithful’ sung by an empty helmet that only knew half the words. Several times Filch the caretaker had to extract Peeves from inside the armour, where he had taken to hiding, filling in the gaps in the songs with lyrics of his own invention, all of which were very rude.

Harry was spending most of his spare time learning how to dance with Pansy, who refused to allow him to be anything short of perfect. Fred and Hermione, on the other hand, had practiced a few times before going off to prank people. < Let’s be real, > Hermione said. < Everyone will be looking at Fleur. I’m honestly grateful for her. >

< We are the goddamn Twins-Who-Lived, > Harry said. < It’s honestly an argument as to who is more famous here. Is it us or Krum? People will be looking at us! >

< As long as I don’t fall over, I don’t give a flying fuck, > Hermione said.

Harry rolled his eyes so hard he was at risk of straining them, before restarting the dance over with Pansy.

-/-

Later that evening, Hermione came hurtling into the Common Room, a savage smile on her face as she approached the other fourth year Slytherins. “What?” Pansy said, eyeing her expression with excitement.

“Ron Weasley just asked Fleur Delacour to go to the Ball with him,” she gloated.

“Oh, please tell me there were witnesses,” Draco said.

“He did it in the Entrance Hall in front of tonnes of people. She was talking to Cedric, and he actually kinda yelled it at her,” Hermione laughed. “Oh, I could cast a Patronus off this. She looked at him like he was a slug and he just ran away.” She wiped tears out of her eyes as the rest of the group laughed meanly.

“Does everyone have a partner for the Ball?” Pansy asked, looking around at everyone.

“Daphne and I are going together,” Theo piped up, smiling shyly at Daphne.

“And Pansy and I are going together,” Harry said, also grinning.

“What?” Draco said, blinking suddenly. “But … I thought …” He trailed off.

“What did you think, Draco?” Pansy asked, a soft sweetness in her voice, eyes widened. She was a true Snake, Harry thought, still smiling at her. Silence hung in the air.

“Well, I’m going with Fred Weasley,” Hermione said, her dangerous smile coming out. “Harry and I asked our partners when most everyone had gone to bed … we didn’t want everyone watching.” What little colour Draco had drained out of his face as Hermione continued to lock eyes with him. “What about you, Tracey? Millicent?”

“Oh, I’m going with Adrian Pucey,” Tracey said, no small amount of pride lacing her words.

“I’m going with Greg,” Millie said shrugging.

“And I’m going with Luna Lovegood,” Blaise said. “What an illuminating chat this has been.”

< Indeed, > Hermione said. < Another win in the Matilda Revenge column. Did you see Draco’s face? >

< This Ball is fucking way more trouble than it’s worth, > Harry muttered.


	26. The Yule Ball Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Ball is upon us! 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

“Shall we practice one last time before tomorrow?” Pansy asked, smiling when Harry nodded, and they left the Common Room for the nearby empty classroom they’d been dancing in.

Harry had barely stepped foot in the room before he found himself slammed into the wall, one of Pansy’s perfectly manicured hands against his chest, the nails just digging in. He gulped when he saw the smile on her face; it was the same one Hermione had when she was about to start raining fire.

“What exactly did your sister mean?” Pansy said softly, the nails slowly digging in a little harder.

< Whoops, > Hermione said, who’d peeked into his head the moment she’d felt him slammed into the wall.

< Not now, Mi, > Harry muttered.

“Are you taking me to the Ball just as some power play?” Pansy said.

“No, Pansy,” Harry said, locking eyes with her. “I’m taking you to the Ball because you’re the only person I want to go with … the only person I even thought of going with. My sister …” he trailed off, < who I’m going to kill, > he shot down the bond, “my sister just never misses an opportunity. Draco ran his mouth when he shouldn’t. Hermione would have found some way to get back at him.” He took a deep breath in. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, or made you feel that I was using you. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

The nails retracted slightly as Pansy searched his face. “Well, I suppose I can appreciate something that works on multiple levels,” she said. “I just had to know … I’m sure you understand, as a fellow Slytherin.”

< Slytherin girls might actually be the death of me, > Harry said. < If Voldemort was a woman, we wouldn’t have survived. >

< Obviously, > Hermione sniffed. < And that’s exactly why we’re going to win in the end. Slytherin girls don’t lose. >

“Did you actually want to practice?” Harry asked, gesturing to the empty classroom.

“No,” Pansy said. “If you weren’t perfect by now, I would have dropped you and taken Draco.” She raised her eyebrow and then giggled at the look on Harry’s face. “I’m mostly kidding.”

“Who is Draco going with?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know, actually,” Pansy said, a smug look of satisfaction on her face. “But that’s what he gets for just assuming without asking me. Remind me to congratulate Hermione later on an excellent power play.”

-/-

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savoury puddings.

Harry awoke very suddenly on Christmas Day. Wondering what had caused his abrupt return to consciousness, he opened his eyes, and saw something with very large, round, green eyes staring back at him in the darkness, so close they were almost nose to nose. With a shriek, he jerked upwards, scrambling away quickly before realising it was Dobby.

The bond flared suddenly as Hermione shoved into his head frantically. < What? What is it? > she said.

< It’s our fucking House-Elf, > Harry said, still breathing heavily. “Hello Dobby,” he grunted.

“Dobby is sorry, Master Harry!” Dobby squeaked anxiously, jumping backwards with his long fingers over his mouth. “Dobby is only wanting to wish Master Harry and Mistress Hermione ‘Merry Christmas’ and bring them presents from Master Sirius.”

“How did you get in?” Harry asked curiously. “No-one is supposed to be able to just get into the Castle.”

“I is a House-Elf,” Dobby said, as though that explained anything. “And Winky is working here now, so I comes to visit her sometimes.”

“What?” Harry said. “Crouch’s elf?” Dobby nodded before producing several presents with a snap of his fingers. Harry shrieked again as his curtains were suddenly ripped open.

< It’s me, calm down, > Hermione said, immediately grabbing one of the presents. “Hey Dobby, Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Mistress Hermione,” Dobby chirped happily. “Dobby be off now … if you ever needs Dobby, you can always call.” With a crack, he vanished again.

< I needed a sleep-in, > Harry grumbled, < but never mind that. >

-/-

< Stop fidgeting, > Harry snapped, as he wrestled with his sister’s ludicrous amount of curls.

< I’m not used to wearing this sort of stuff, > Hermione whinged back at him. < You can’t even kick anyone in this dress. >

< You don’t need to kick anyone! > Harry said, exasperated. < It’s a Ball, not a melee. >

< I’d prefer a melee, > Hermione sniffed.

< Gods help me, > Harry said, finishing off and grabbing the Mirror so they could show Sirius and Remus their outfits. Harry was in dress robes of a moss green so dark it was almost black with gold highlights. His hair was swept back off his face for a change, the famous scar on show. Hermione was in a deep navy dress that was spattered with silver stars. Harry had tied in silver stars throughout her hair that was also pushed off her face, her scar standing out boldly above her bright green eyes. 

-/-

Harry bowed deeply as Pansy entered the Common Room. “You look beautiful,” he murmured as she curtsied back at him. She was in a matching deep green dress, gold lining her dark eyes with matching gold bracelets and earrings.

“Obviously,” she said before softly laughing. “I’m very pleased that you clean up so nicely.”

“Come on,” Hermione butted in. “I’m meeting Fred at the Entrance Hall. Let’s go.”

“I still can’t believe you’re going with one of the Twin Terrors,” Pansy said. “What’s actually wrong with you?”

“If I had all day, I wouldn’t be able to finish that list,” Harry said, holding out his arm to her as they left the Common Room.

< I may not be able to kick you in this dress, but I can still stomp on your feet in these shoes, > Hermione snapped, sending a zap over the bond.

The Entrance Hall was packed with students too, all milling around waiting for eight o’clock, when the doors to the Great Hall would be thrown open. Those people who were meeting partners from different houses were edging through the crowd, trying to find each other. Hermione let out a loud yell when she spotted Fred and waved him over, ignoring the zap Harry sent her.

< It’s a Ball, not a fucking zoo, > Harry said. < Try and act like a lady. >

< Go fuck yourself, > Hermione laughed, before mockingly curtsying to Fred who laughed loudly and sunk into a deep bow, his navy dress robes matching Hermione perfectly.

“My laaady,” he drawled.

The oak front doors opened, and everyone turned to look as the Durmstrang students entered with Professor Karkaroff. Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by –

“Shut the fuck up,” Pansy said. “Is that Parvati? She did not tell me she was going with Krum! That bitch!”

“I didn’t know you were friends with Patil,” Harry said, staring out past the Durmstrang students at the area of lawn right in front of the castle. It had been transformed into a sort of grotto full of fairy lights.

“She’s a Patil,” Pansy said, like that explained everything. She frowned at the lack of comprehension on Harry’s face. “Her family control basically all imports from India into Britain. I mean, most of her family’s power is still in India, they’re only a branch of the Patil family after all, but they’re certainly incredibly wealthy here in Britain, and are only consolidating more power as time goes on.”

“Right,” Harry said, trying to look like he understood.

Before Pansy could continue, Professor McGonagall’s voice called, “Champions over here, please!”

Professor McGonagall, who was wearing dress robes of red tartan, and had arranged a rather ugly wreath of thistles around the brim of her hat, told them to wait on one side of the doors while everyone else went inside; they were to enter the Great Hall in procession when the rest of the students had sat down. Fleur Delacour, who appeared to be faintly glowing and looked as stunning as ever in robes in silver-grey satin, stationed herself and her date, who Harry recognised as the Ravenclaw Quidditch Captain Roger Davis, nearest the doors. Davies looked so stunned by his good fortune in having Fleur for a partner that he could hardly take his eyes off her. Cedric had taken Cho Chang, the Ravenclaw Seeker, and Harry noted that Parvati looked quite pretty in a bright pink sari and looked unbelievably thrilled to be on the arm of Viktor Krum. His usual fan club from the library stalked past as the doors to the Great Hall opened, throwing Parvati looks of deepest loathing. With growing shock, he noticed that Pansy was also getting thrown looks of loathing from various people as they walked into the Hall, and only narrowly avoided rolling his eyes at the smug look on Pansy’s face.

“Shut up,” she whispered. “Of course I’m going to enjoy people being jealous of me.”

Once everyone else was settled in the Hall, Professor McGonagall told the champions and their partners to get in line in pairs and follow her. They did so, and everyone in the Great Hall applauded as they entered and started walking up towards a large round table at the top of the Hall where the judges were sitting.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The house tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Harry concentrated on not tripping over his feet and ignoring the utter mischief he could feel over the bond coming from his sister. Pansy was utterly in her element, beaming proudly at everyone around them as she walked gracefully on her gold high heels towards the top table.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table and Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxine, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a glowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. As he continued to scan the top table, he realised that Mr Crouch wasn’t there. Instead, the fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.

< What the fuck? > Hermione said, as Percy drew out the empty chair beside him and stared pointedly at her. Realising her name card was on the seat, she reluctantly sat next to Percy, who was also wearing navy dress robes and such an expression of smugness that it made Pansy look humble. Harry sent a quick prayer of gratitude skyward as he pulled out Pansy’s chair – they were not sat next to any of the judges.

“I’ve been promoted,” Percy said, before Hermione even had the chance to show she wasn’t going to ask, and from his tone, he might have been announcing his election as Supreme Ruler of the Universe. “I’m now Mr Crouch’s personal assistant, and I’m here representing him. Fred, I must congratulate you on cleaning up so nicely. I wasn’t sure either you or George were capable or even interested in such things.”

Hermione laid her hand on Fred’s knee before he could say anything, a quick glance promising that he could repay him later. Percy continued to plough on.

“I’m afraid to say Mr Crouch isn’t well, not well at all. Hasn’t been right since the World Cup. Hardly surprising – overwork. He’s not as young as he was – though still quite brilliant, of course, the mind remains as great as it ever was. But the World Cup was a fiasco for the whole Ministry, and then Mr Crouch suffered a huge personal shock with the misbehaviour of that house-elf of his, Blinky or whatever she was called. Naturally, he dismissed her immediately afterwards, but – well, as I say, he’s getting on, he needs looking after, and I think he’s found a definite drop in his home comforts since she left. And then we had the Tournament to arrange, and the aftermath of the Cup to deal with – that revolting Skeeter woman buzzing around – no, poor man, he’s having a well-earned, quiet Christmas. I’m just glad he knew he had someone he could rely upon to take his place.”

“Oh, so does he know your name now?” Hermione asked, in her sugar-sweet voice. “Or are you still Weatherby?”

“Oh gods,” Harry muttered, looking away from that train-wreck. There was no food as yet on the glittering golden plates, but small menus lying in front of each of them. Harry picked his up uncertainly and looked around – there were no waiters. Dumbledore, however, looked carefully down his own menu, then said very clearly to his plate, “Pork chops!”

“Well, I suppose it’s a good thing the House of Potter is a patriarchal line,” Pansy said, watching aghast as Fred and Hermione continued to antagonise Percy. “You at least have some hope as Lord Potter.”

“As what?” Harry said, distracted away from the pork chops that had appeared on Dumbledore’s plate.

“As Lord Potter,” Pansy said.

“Pansy, with all the respect I have for you, what the fuck are you talking about?” Harry said, a growing sense of unease growing in the pit of his stomach.

“Oh my gods,” Pansy said, dropping the menu out of her hand.

-/-

When all the food had been consumed, Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, at a wave of his wand, the tables zoomed back along the walls, leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right-hand wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello and some bagpipes were set upon it. The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments, and Harry, who had just been subjected to a lengthy lecture on the entire political process, interspersed with multiple epithets calling various people responsible for his apparent lack of knowledge a wide variety of insults, was now so far removed from the Ball that he had almost forgotten that he was now expected to dance.

“If Draco wasn’t such a prat, I’d be ditching you right now,” Pansy hissed as she dragged him out of his seat as the rest of the lanterns went out.

“I know you don’t really mean that,” Harry said, as he narrowly avoided tripping over his dress robes. “I know you’re very much enjoying being able to lecture me, Pans.”

“Yes, well, it’s fun being right,” she sniffed as they took their position on the dancefloor. She broke out into a smile as Harry looked down at her with his eyebrow raised. “Seriously though, I can’t believe what a complete moron you are.” 

The Weird Sisters struck up a slow, mournful tune and they were off. Harry let out a sigh of relief that they were just as good as everyone else on the dancefloor as he spun Pansy around, and that they were definitely much better than Fred and Hermione who were attracting a lot of attention with their ridiculous moves. His sister had a huge smile on her face though and he could feel her happiness radiating over the bond. Soon enough, the dancefloor started to fill, and all attention fell off them, as he continued to dance with Pansy, meeting each step with her perfectly. Neville and Ginny were dancing nearby as were Theo and Daphne, who looked stunning in her pale blue robes. After a while, Harry led Pansy away from the dancefloor in search of a drink, going past Fred and Hermione, who were now dancing so exuberantly with George and his date Katie that people around them were backing away for fear of injury.

Confident that his sister had not had the time to spike the drink yet, he offered a drink to Pansy before snagging a Butterbeer for himself. They were just about to head over towards Blaise and Luna when Percy bustled over, rubbing his hands together and looking extremely pompous. “Harry, you haven’t introduced me to your date,” he said.

“Of course,” Harry said, gritting his teeth into a smile. “Percy, may I introduce Pansy of House Parkinson. Pansy, this is Percy of House Weasley.”

“A pleasure,” Pansy said with a small curtsy.

“Harry,” came Ludo’s booming voice as he hurried over to them. “What an excellent Ball!”

“Yes, it really is quite something,” Percy interrupted. “How do you feel the Tournament’s going, Mr Bagman? Our department’s quite satisfied – the hitch with the Goblet of Fire” – he glanced at Harry – “was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone very smoothly since, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Bagman said cheerfully, “it’s all been enormous fun. How’s old Barty doing? Shame he couldn’t come.”

“Oh, I’m sure Mr Crouch will be up and about in no time,” said Percy importantly, “but in the meantime, I’m more than willing to take up the slack. Of course, it’s not all attending balls –“ he laughed airily – “oh, no, I’ve had to deal with all sorts of things that have cropped up in his absence – you heard Ali Bashir was caught smuggling a consignment of flying carpets into the country? And then we’ve been trying to persuade the Transylvanians to sign the International Ban on Duelling, I’ve got a meeting with their Head of Magical Co-operation in the new year –“

“I’m going to kill myself if I have to stay here,” Harry whispered to Pansy, before pretending he wanted another drink and dragging her away.

Pansy threw her hands up. “You have the ability to influence these men,” she said. “They came over to talk to you. You! And you’re only in fourth year at school. Imagine the power you’ll have when you come of age. You have to start thinking in those terms, you know. I can’t believe you haven’t been doing that already.”

Harry took a deep breath as they slipped out into the Entrance Hall. “I didn’t even realise I was going to be a Lord until tonight, Pans,” he said. “Honestly, half the time, it doesn’t feel like I’ll have a future. It’s only been about survival.”

The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes, winding ornamental paths, and large stone statues. Harry could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches.

Pansy looked up at him, worry in her eyes. “You do have a future, Harry,” she said. “A really bright one. You have the potential to become one of the most powerful people in this country.”

“Is that why you’re here at the Ball with me?” Harry said, before clenching his fists at the hurt look on her face. “Sorry, that was unkind.”

“It was,” she said, “but we are Slytherins so I understand. Being with you is good for me, for my reputation and my standing, I won’t deny that. But I could get that from other people too.”

“Forgive me,” Harry said. “I’m good at fighting Voldemort. I’m not so good at other things.”

Pansy rolled her eyes as they set off along one of the winding paths through the rose bushes, but they had gone only a short way when they heard a familiar voice.

“… don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months, I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it –“

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee, I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Snape and Karkaroff came around the corner. Snape had his wand out, and was blasting rose bushes apart, his expression most ill-natured. Squeals issued from many of the bushes, and dark shapes emerged from them. Harry dragged Pansy behind one of the statues as Snape continued to blast different couples out of the bushes, taking points as he did so.

“What was all that about?” Pansy whispered, watching as the two men hurried out of sight.

“Probably their Dark Marks,” Harry muttered. A loud choking noise drew him out of his thoughts and he looked down to see that Pansy had gone utterly pale. “Oh right, you didn’t know about that …” He trailed off. < Fuck, > he said, interrupting whatever his sister was doing. < I just told Pansy that Snape has a Dark Mark. >

< What’s wrong with you? > Hermione exclaimed loudly. She dragged Fred off the dancefloor. “Time to spike the punch,” she said, knowing it would give her time to have this conversation.

< It just slipped out, > Harry protested.

< What are you, Hagrid? You’re unbelievable, > she said. < I don’t even know how you’re going to begin explaining that. >

< Why do you think I interrupted whatever bizarre dance move you were doing? > Harry said. < I need your help! >


	27. The Yule Ball Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos feed my soul, y'all ! 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

“You’re fucking right that I didn’t know,” Pansy hissed, a shrill note entering her voice. “What are you talking about, Dark Marks?”

Harry glanced around at the various rose bushes, statues, and shadows. “This probably isn’t the right venue for this conversation,” he said. “Do you think that maybe my sister and I could tell you everything later in the trunk?”

Pansy stared at him incredulously. “Oh my gods, I should have gone with Draco,” she said.

“And miss all this drama?” Harry said. “Nice try Pans, but I know you better than that.”

< Nice save, > Hermione said, shaking her head, dragging Fred back out to the dancefloor. 

Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, Harry led Pansy further down the garden path. “Come on, we’ll finish our stroll and go back and dance some more. I mean, we still don’t know who Draco has turned up to the dance with.”

They had just reached a large stone reindeer, over which they could see the sparkling jets of a tall fountain, when Harry noticed the shadow outlines of two enormous people. They were sitting on the stone bench ahead, watching the water in the moonlight. And then Harry heard Hagrid speak.

“Momen’ I saw yeh, I knew,” he was saying, in an oddly husky voice.

Harry froze. This didn’t sound like the sort of scene they ought to walk in on, somehow. He looked back up the path, only to see Pansy looking judgementally at Fleur Delacour and Roger Davies standing half-concealed in a rose bush nearby. “I thought she had more class than that,” Pansy whispered. “He’s not even that good at Quidditch.”

“I have no response to that,” Harry said, trying desperately not to listen to Hagrid’s conversation.

“What did you know, ‘Agrid?” Madame Maxime said, a distinct purr in her low voice.

“I jus’ knew … knew you were like me … was it yer mother or yer father?”

Before Harry could make a decision about which way to go, Pansy had crept closer to the large pair, interest written on her face. Taking a second to curse all Slytherin girls, he followed her.

“I – I don’t know what you mean, ‘Agrid …”

“It was my mother,” Hagrid said quietly. “She was one o’ the las’ ones in Britain. Course, I can’ remember her too well … she left, see. When I was abou’ three. She wasn’ really the maternal sort. Well … it’s not in their natures, is it? Dunno what happened to her … might be dead fer all I know …”

Madame Maxime didn’t say anything. And Harry, in spite of himself, took his eyes off Pansy, and looked over the top of the reindeer’s antlers, listening … he had never heard Hagrid talk about his childhood before.

“Me dad was broken-hearted when she wen’. Tiny little bloke, my dad was. By the time I was six I could lift him up an’ put him on top o’ the dresser if he annoyed me. Used ter make him laugh …” Hagrid’s deep voice broke. Madame Maxime was listening, motionless, apparently staring at the silvery fountain. “Dad raised me … but he died, o’ course, jus’ after I started school. Sorta had ter make me own way after that. Dumbledore was a real help, mind. Very kind ter me, he was …” Hagrid pulled out a large, spotted silk handkerchief and blew his nose heavily. “So … anyway … enough abou’ me. What about you? Which side you got it on?”

But Madame Maxime had suddenly got to her feet. “It is chilly,” she said – but whatever the weather was doing, it was nowhere near as cold as her voice. “I think I will go in now.”

“Eh?” said Hagrid blankly. “No, don’ go! I’ve – I’ve never met another one before!”

“Anuzzer what, precisely?” said Madame Maxime, her tone icy. Harry could have told Hagrid it was best not to answer; he stood there in the shadows, gritting his teeth, hoping against hope he wouldn’t – but it was no good.

“Another half-giant, o’ course!” said Hagrid.

“’Ow dare you!” shrieked Madame Maxime. Her voice exploded through the peaceful night air like a foghorn; behind him, Harry heard Fleur and Roger fall out of their rose bush. “I ’ave nevair been more insulted in my life! ’Alf-giant? Moi? I ’ave – I ’ave big bones!”

She stormed away; great multi-coloured swarms of fairies rose into the air as she passed, angrily pushing aside bushes. Hagrid was still sitting on the bench, staring after her. It was much too dark to make out his expression. Then, after about a minute, he stood up and strode away, not back to the castle, but off out into the dark grounds in the direction of his cabin.

Pansy stared up at Harry, her jaw dropped open. “Oh my gods, he teaches children,” she said.

“What do you mean?” Harry said confused.

“He’s half-giant!”

“So what?” Harry shrugged.

“Gods, you really are a moron. Do you know anything? Giants have a terrible reputation. They’re vicious. It’s in their nature, like Hagrid said, they’re like trolls in that way. They kill, and they like killing. Everyone knows that. There are hardly any giants left in Britain now, although there are still quite a few scattered across the mountains in Europe.”

“Well, Hagrid isn’t like that,” Harry said. “He’s been nothing but kind to me and Hermione.”

“Gods, if people knew,” Pansy said. “There would be outrage. Like there’s no way Hagrid would still be teaching.”

“Well, it’s a good thing people don’t know,” Harry said, his voice hardening.

Pansy rolled her eyes. “I won’t tell anyone,” she said. “Purely out of respect for you. I’ll stand by this though, he shouldn’t be teaching. And not because of his mother … because of those cursed fucking Skrewts.” She let out a very loud sigh. “This is the craziest Ball I’ve ever been to, and it’s entirely your fault. Is this what life is always like with you?”

“Pretty much,” Harry said, letting out an equally loud sigh. “I mostly blame Hermione for it.”

“Well come on, future Lord Potter,” she said. “You owe me a few more dances.”

They wandered back towards the Great Hall, hand in hand. Fleur and Roger had disappeared, probably into a more private clump of bushes. Harry noted that Hermione was still dancing with Fred, a happy look on her face. He also noted that more than several people appeared to be quite intoxicated. Before he could move further into the Hall, Pansy’s hand slapped him in the chest. “Shut the fuck up,” she said, now grinning from ear to ear. “He’s here with Lily Moon!”

“Who?” Harry said.

“She’s a Ravenclaw,” she said. “A Ravenclaw! Can you imagine? Oh, this is so much better than I thought. She’s not even Sacred 28.”

“Neither am I,” Harry protested.

“Yeah, but my family doesn’t care about that as much. His family very much does. Everyone knows Narcissa is hoping the Black Heirship will go to Draco too,” Pansy said. “I can’t believe it. I thought he’d ask one of the younger Slytherins, like Flora or Astoria.”

“What do you mean, the Black Heirship?”

Pansy turned to him, her eyes still dancing at Draco’s state. “Oh, gods. Sirius is **your** godfather; how do you not know this one?” she said.

-/-

When the Weird Sisters finished playing at midnight, everyone gave them a last, loud round of applause, and started to wend their way into the Entrance Hall. Many people were expressing the wish that the ball could have gone on longer. Out in the Entrance Hall, Harry watched as Hermione said goodnight to Fred before she hurried over to the rest of the Slytherins. “What a wonderful night,” she said, grinning at everyone. “Did we all have fun with our dates?”

< Stop twisting the knife, > Harry said. < I want to go to bed. >

< You really are no fun, > she said, as they headed down the stairs towards the dungeons.

“Hey – Harry!”

They both turned around to see Cedric Diggory waving after them. “What?” Hermione said coldly. Shaking his head, he shoved her back towards the Slytherins who were looking back curiously, and headed towards Cedric.

“Listen …” Cedric lowered his voice. “I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know that golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it?”

“Yeah,” Harry said.

“Well … take a bath, OK?”

“Take a what?”

“Take a bath and – er – take the egg with you, and – er – just mull things over in the hot water. It’ll help you think … trust me.”

Harry stared at him.

“Tell you what,” Cedric said, “use the Prefects’ bathroom. Fourth door to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password’s _Pine-Fresh_. Gotta go … want to say goodnight –“ He grinned at Harry again and hurried back across the entrance to Cho. Still confused, Harry turned and walked back down the stairs to Pansy and Hermione who were waiting for him.

< Take a bath? > Hermione said, having listened over the bond. < We fucking told him exactly what the First Task was, and he’s telling us to take a bath. You should have let me be involved. I would have told him exactly what to take – a fucking hike, for one. >

< Exactly why you weren’t involved, > Harry said. “Now, Pansy. I believe you’d like to know about Dark Marks …” 

“Like is a strong word,” she muttered.

“Hang on,” Hermione said, turning to look at Harry. < If we’re going to tell people … and I mean, really tell people … not just come up with some lie … well then, we should tell everyone that’s important to us. Neville, Fred, Ginny, Pansy, Daphne. >

< Are you sure? > Harry said. < Because you know I’m always happy to lie. >

< Do you trust her? > Hermione said, going oddly serious for once.

< I do, > Harry said. < Whether or not that’s the right thing though, I don’t know. Look at our parents – they trusted Peter Pettigrew, and he betrayed them. >

< So we make them swear an oath, > Hermione said. < If they’re really our friends then they’ll do it. >

“I have no idea what you two are doing,” Pansy said, waving her hand in between them.

“Wait here, I’ll be back,” Hermione said, before sprinting off in the direction of the Gryffindor Common Room.

“What the fuck?” Pansy said, exasperated.


	28. Egg Mystery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we're coming up on the Second Task 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

Everybody got up late on Boxing Day. “Huh,” Pansy said when she woke up and looked around the room at the bottom of the trunk from her pile of conjured pillows. “Guess I was hoping it was all some horrible dream and today was the day of the Ball.”

“That would have been nice,” Ginny said, stretching her arms out. “Instead … well, it wasn’t the Christmas gift I was hoping for.”

“No?” Pansy said. “You weren’t hoping for news of the Dark Lord’s imminent return? That we’re being taught by one of his Marked? That another Blood War is nearly upon us?”

“It’s too early for your sarcasm, Pans,” Ginny yawned. “Don’t make me throw you in the Lake again.”

Pansy quietly thought that mostly everyone had taken it a little bit too well. Neither Fred, George, nor Ginny had seemed the slightest bit surprised, especially when compared to Daphne’s loud breakdown. She was still sleeping off the Calming Drought Hermione had shoved down her throat. Should have just gone to the damn Ball with Draco, she thought, leaning back into her pillows.

-/-

< I honestly think it went well, > Hermione said, as everyone left the trunk to go about their day. < Well, except for Daphne, but she really is the definition of a Pureblood Princess. >

< Remember in first year when we were worried we wouldn’t have any friends? > Harry reminisced. < Well, I’m really really glad that we have friends. >

< Friends, family, pets, more books than I can count, > Hermione said, a deep note of contentment humming over the bond.

< And two Golden Eggs that scream whenever we open them, > Harry said, crashing down the conversation.

< Fuck, you’re a buzzkill, > Hermione said. < But fine, we’ll go and take a fucking bath … if it doesn’t work, I’m going to break into the Hufflepuff Common Room again and beat Cedric’s head in with the Golden Egg. >

-/-

They had decided to do it that night, so they’d be able to take as much time as needed. This was how they found themselves glued together under the Cloak sneaking through the dark corridors of the castle in search of the prefect bathroom. < Gods, it just had to be on the fucking fifth floor, didn’t it? > Hermione seethed as they slowly crept up more stairs. Thankfully, the moonlit corridors were empty and silent, and by checking the map at strategic intervals, they were able to ensure that they wouldn’t run into anyone they needed to avoid. When they reached the statue of Boris the Bewildered, a lost-looking wizard with his gloves on the wrong hands, Harry crept out from under the Cloak in order to lean in close and mutter the password, exceedingly grateful when the door creaked open and they could quickly slip inside.

< Fuck me, > Hermione said, looking around. < One of us needs to be a Prefect. This bathroom is incredible. > Harry quietly agreed. It was softly lit by a splendid candle-filled chandelier, and everything was made of white marble, including what looked like an empty, rectangular swimming pool sunk into the middle of the floor. About a hundred golden taps stood all around the pool’s edges, each with a different-coloured jewel set into its handle. There was also a diving board. Long white linen curtains hung at the windows; a large pile of fluffy white towels sat in a corner, and there was a single golden-framed painting on the wall. It featured a blonde mermaid, who was fast asleep on a rock, her long hair fluttering over her face every time she snored.

< Guess I’ll run a bath then, > Harry said, kneeling down and turning on a few of the taps. He could tell at once that they carried different sorts of bubble bath mixed with the water, though it wasn’t bubble bath as Harry had ever experienced it. One tap gushed pink and blue bubbles the size of footballs, another poured ice-white foam so thick that Harry thought it would have supported his weight if he’d cared to test it; a third sent heavily perfumed purple clouds hovering over the surface of the water. They amused themselves for a while turning the taps on and off, particularly enjoying the effect of one whose jet bounced off the surface of the water in large arcs. Then, when the deep pool was full of hot water, foam and bubbles (which took a very short time considering its size), they turned off all the taps and quickly hopped into the hot water. It was so deep that their feet barely touched the bottom, which made both of them fairly nervous. The Dursleys had certainly never made sure they had the ability to swim.

< Well, as dope as this bath is, I’m not experiencing any sudden bursts of brilliance, > Hermione said. < Beyond my usual brilliance, obviously. >

< Probably hard to see anything over that ego, > Harry said, reaching over for the egg and opening it. The wailing, screeching sound filled the bathroom, echoing and reverberating off the marble walls, but it sounded just as incomprehensible as ever, if not more so with all the echoes. He snapped it shut again, worried that the sound would attract Filch, wondering whether that hadn’t been Cedric’s plan – and then, making Hermione scream and him jump so badly that he dropped the egg, which clattered away across the bathroom floor, someone spoke.

“I’d try putting it in the water, if I were you.”

Hermione’s heart was racing like she’d just sprinted, and Harry swallowed a considerable amount of bubbles in shock. He stood up, spluttering, to see the ghost of a very glum-looking girl sitting cross-legged on top of one of the taps. “Myrtle?” Harry said, utterly confused. His confusion soon turned to outrage. “We're in our knickers!"

“I closed my eyes when you got in,” she said, blinking at him through her thick spectacles. “You haven’t come to see me in ages.”

< HA, Myrtle has a crush on you, > Hermione crowed.

< Shut the fuck up, > Harry said. “I’m sorry, Myrtle, but it’s only been like a month or two, hasn’t it?”

“Mmm, but you don’t stop and chat like you used to,” Myrtle said shyly.

“Well, next time, I’ll stop and chat,” Harry said, ignoring his sister who was now cackling loudly over the bond. “You said something about the egg though?”

“I’d try the egg in the water. That’s what Cedric Diggory did.”

Muttering furiously to himself, he grabbed his sister’s egg, zapped her over the bond when she continued to laugh, and yanked the egg open under the water … and, this time, it didn’t wail. A gurgling song was coming out of it, a song whose words he couldn’t quite distinguish through the water.

“You need to put your head under, too,” Myrtle said, who seemed to be thoroughly enjoying bossing him around. “Go on!”

The twins took a deep breath in and slid under the surface – and now, sitting on the marble bottom of the bubble-filled bath, they heard a chorus of eerie voices singing to him from the open egg in his hands:

_“Come seek us where our voices sound,_

_We cannot sing above the ground,_

_And while you’re searching, ponder this:_

_We’ve taken what you’ll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you’ll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took,_

_But past an hour – the prospect’s black_

_Too late, it’s gone, it won’t come back.”_

They let themselves float back upwards, breaking through the bubbly surface, and looked at each other in shock. < We cannot sing above the ground? > Harry said. < They can’t be serious. Do they really mean for the next task to be underwater? >

< They’re going to take something from us, > Hermione said. < Something that we’ll sorely miss and we have to get it back. >

< From UNDER THE LAKE! > Harry said. < I don’t care what they fucking take. It’s under the goddamn water. We can’t even swim in a fucking bathtub. >

“Know what it means yet?” Myrtle said, with a giggle. “Slow, aren’t you?”

Both twins turned to her incredulously, noting she was the most cheerful they’d ever seen her. < Go flirt with the weird ghost, > Hermione said.

Wishing for a vaguely better life, Harry smiled back at Myrtle. “Well, we’re no Ravenclaws, not like you, Myrtle. I’m sure you figured it out immediately.”

Myrtle seemed to blush at that, looking down coyly. “Well, sometimes I get flushed down my toilet unexpectedly, so I’ve been down into the Lake. I suppose I could tell you what’s down there …” She looked closely at Harry again. “Do you promise you’ll come visit me again?”

“I promise,” Harry said, smiling encouragingly back at the ghost.

“Merpeople,” Myrtle said. “That’s what you’re hearing in the Egg. They live down the bottom of the Lake.”

< Well, we are properly fucked then, > Hermione said. < Voldemort’s plan for the Tournament to fucking murder us seems to be right back on track. >

Myrtle zoomed away up the tap as they got dressed back into their pyjamas. Before exiting the bathroom, Harry quickly checked the Marauder’s Map to make sure the coast was clear. Yes, the dots belonging to Filch and Mrs Norris were safely in their office … nothing else seemed to be moving apart from Peeves, who was bouncing around the trophy room on the floor above … Harry had taken his first step back towards the dungeons, when something else on the map caught his eye … something distinctly odd. Peeves was not the only thing that was moving. A single dot was flitting around a room in the bottom left-hand corner – Snape’s office. But the dot wasn’t labelled Severus Snape … it was Bartemius Crouch.

< What the fuck? > he breathed, jabbing Hermione over the bond, who leant over to see what he was looking at, then yanked the Map off him to peer even closer.

< Mr Crouch? > Hermione said incredulously. < But Percy said he was like … too sick to even come to work or something. >

< Why’s he searching Snape’s office? At 1 in the bloody morning? > Harry said, watching as the dot continued to flit around Snape’s office.

< Come on then, > Hermione said, pulling the Cloak over both of them. < Let’s go find out. >

They walked down the stairs as quietly as possible, though the faces in some of the portraits still turned curiously at the squeak of a floorboard, the rustle of their pyjamas. They crept along the corridor below, pushed aside a tapestry about halfway along and proceeded down a narrower staircase, a shortcut which would take them down two floors. Harry kept glancing down at the map in Hermione’s hands, wondering … it just didn’t seem in character, somehow, for correct, law-abiding Mr Crouch to be sneaking around somebody else’s office this late at night … And then, halfway down the staircase, not thinking about what he was doing, not concentrating on anything but the peculiar behaviour of Mr Crouch, Harry’s leg suddenly sank right through the trick step Neville always forgot to jump. He gave an ungainly wobble as his leg stuck and both golden eggs slipped from under his arm. He lurched forwards to try and catch them, only to knock into Hermione who tripped out from under the Cloak, and too late – the eggs fell down the long staircase with bangs as loud as a bass drum on every step. They fell through the tapestry at the bottom of the staircase, and one of them burst open and began wailing loudly in the corridor below.

“PEEVES!” came the hunting call of Filch.

Harry and Hermione stared at each in horror, both eggs down the bottom of the staircase, the Map between both of them, the Invisibility Cloak only half on Harry who was stuck in the staircase. He felt Hermione’s brain whir into action, and she leapt forward, grabbing the Map and blanking it, and bounding back up to him. She had just pulled the Cloak back over both of them when Filch reached the bottom of the stairs where the eggs were.

“What’s this racket? Wake up the whole castle, will you? I’ll have you, Peeves, I’ll have you, you’ll … and what is this?” Filch’s footsteps stopped; there was a clink of metal on metal, and the wailing stopped – Filch had picked up the egg and closed it. The twins stood very still, Harry’s leg still jammed in the magical step, listening closely, praying Filch didn’t come up the stairs.

“Egg?” Filch said quietly at the foot of the stairs. “My sweet!” – Mrs Norris was obviously with him – “This is a Triwizard clue! This belongs to a school champion!” Hermione desperately tried to yank out Harry’s leg to no avail as Filch talked to Mrs Norris. “PEEVES!” Filch roared gleefully. “You’ve been stealing!”

He ripped back the tapestry below, and the twins saw his horrible pouchy face, and bulging, pale eyes staring up to the dark and deserted staircase. < Fuck, fuck, fuck! > Hermione screeched.

“Hiding, are you?” he said softly. “I’m coming to get you, Peeves … you’ve gone and stolen a Triwizard clue, Peeves … Dumbledore’ll have you out of here for this, you filthy pilfering poltergeist …” Filch started to climb the stairs, his scrawny, dust-coloured cat at his heels. Mrs Norris’s lamp-like eyes, so very like her master’s, were fixed directly upon the twins. Sick with apprehension, they watched Filch drawing nearer and nearer in his old flannel dressing-gown – they tried desperately to pull his trapped leg free, but it merely sank a few more inches – any second now, Filch was going to walk right into them –

“Filch? What’s going on?”

Filch stopped a few steps below the twins and turned. At the foot of the stairs stood the only person who could make the situation worse – Snape. He was wearing a long grey nightshirt and he looked livid. < Fuck, another terrible party, > Hermione screeched. < And fuck your leg too. Aren’t you supposed to be the sports star? >

“It’s Peeves, Professor,” Filch whispered malevolently. “He threw this egg down the stairs.”

Snape climbed up the stairs quickly and stopped beside Filch. Harry gritted his teeth, convinced his loudly thumping heart would give him away at any second … “Peeves?” said Snape softly, staring at the egg in Filch’s hands. “But Peeves couldn’t get into my office …”

“This egg was in your office, Professor?”

“Of course not,” Snape snapped, “I heard banging and wailing –“

“Yes, Professor, that was the egg –“

“– I was coming to investigate –“

“– Peeves threw it, Professor –“

“– and when I passed my office, I saw that the torches were lit and a cupboard door was ajar! Somebody has been searching it!”

“But Peeves couldn’t –“

“I know he couldn’t, Filch!” Snape snapped. “I seal my office with a spell none but a wizard could break!” Snape looked up the stairs, straight through the twins, and then down into the corridor below. “I want you to come and help me search for the intruder, Filch.”

“I – yes, Professor – but –“ Filch looked yearningly up the stairs, right through them, who could see that he was very reluctant to forgo the chance of cornering Peeves. “The thing is, Professor,” said Filch plaintively, “the Headmaster will have to listen to me this time, Peeves has been stealing from a student, it might be my chance to get him thrown out of the castle once and for all –“

“Filch, I don’t give a damn about that wretched poltergeist, it’s my office that’s –“

Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.

Snape stopped talking very abruptly. He and Filch both looked down at the foot of the stairs. The twins saw Mad-Eye Moody limp into sight through the narrow gap between their heads. Moody was wearing his old travelling cloak over his nightshirt, and leaning on his staff as usual. “Pyjama party, is it?” he growled up the stairs.

“Professor Snape and I heard noises, Professor,” said Filch at once. “Peeves the poltergeist, throwing things around as usual– and then Professor Snape discovered that someone had broken into his off–“

“Shut up!” Snape hissed to Filch.

Moody took a step closer to the foot of the stairs. Harry saw Moody’s magical eye travel over Snape, and then, unmistakeably, onto him and Hermione. The bond gave a horrible jolt. Moody could see through Invisibility Cloaks … he alone could see the full strangeness of the scene … Snape in his nightshirt, Filch clutching the egg, and the twins, trapped in the stairs behind them, clutching desperately to each other under the Cloak. Moody’s lop-sided gash of a mouth opened in surprise. < Oh, we are fucked now, > Harry said, as he and Moody stared directly at each other. They watched, paralysed, as Moody closed his mouth and turned his blue eye upon Snape again.

“Did I hear that correctly, Snape?” he asked slowly. “Someone broke into your office?”

“It is unimportant,” said Snape coldly.

“On the contrary,” growled Moody, “it is very important. Who’d want to break into your office?”

“A student, I daresay,” said Snape. Hermione could see a vein flickering horribly on Snape’s greasy temple. “It has happened before. Potion ingredients have gone missing from my private store cupboard … students attempting illicit mixtures, no doubt …”

“Reckon they were after potion ingredients, eh?” said Moody. “Not hiding anything else in your office, are you?” Hermione watched as the edge of Snape’s sallow face turned a nasty brick colour, the vein in his temple pulsing more rapidly.

“You know I’m hiding nothing, Moody,” he said, in a soft and dangerous voice, “as you’ve searched my office pretty thoroughly yourself.”

Moody’s face twisted into a smile. “Auror’s privilege, Snape. Dumbledore told me to keep an eye –“

“Dumbledore happens to trust me,” said Snape, through clenched teeth. “I refuse to believe that he gave you orders to search my office!”

< This is fucking crazy, > Hermione said, her eyes flicking back and forth between the three men.

“Course Dumbledore trusts you,” growled Moody. “He’s a trusting man, isn’t he? Believes in second chances. But me – I say there are spots that don’t come off, Snape. Spots that never come off, d’you know what I mean?”

The twins watched as Snape seized his left forearm convulsively with his right hand, as though something on it had hurt him, their eyes widening as they realised what it was. Moody laughed. “Get back to bed, Snape.”

“You don’t have the authority to send me anywhere!” Snape hissed, letting go of his arm as though angry with himself. “I have as much right to prowl this school after dark as you do!”

“Prowl away,” said Moody, but his voice was full of menace. “I look forward to meeting you in a dark corridor some time. Now, Mr Filch, that egg …”

“Eggs,” Filch said, jolting at the change in conversation. “There’s another one down there, it just wasn’t wailing.”

“Two eggs?” Snape said, and the twins watched as a horrible expression of dawning comprehension came across his face, his black eyes flicking between the empty corridor and the two eggs. “The Potter Twins,” he said quietly.

“What?” Filch said dumbly.

“The Potter Twins!” Snape snarled, searching up the stairs ahead of him. “There are two eggs. The Twins are here, under their Invisibility Cloak!” Harry and Hermione watched in horror as Snape stretched out his hands like a blind man, and began to move up the stairs. Hermione began frantically tugging on Harry’s leg as Harry watched the horror unfold in front of them; he could have sworn Snape’s overlarge nostrils were dilating, trying to sniff them out.

“There’s nothing there, Snape!” Moody barked. “I’d be able to see them, and I’ll be happy to tell the Headmaster how quickly your mind jumped to the Potter Twins!”

“Meaning what?” Snape snarled, turning again to look at Moody, his hands still outstretched, inches from Hermione’s shoulder.

“Meaning that Dumbledore’s very interested to know who’s got it in for them!” said Moody, limping nearer still to the foot of the stairs. “And so am I, Snape … very interested …” The torchlight flickered across his mangled face, so that the scars, and the chunk missing from his nose, looked deeper and darker than ever.

Snape was looking down at Moody, and neither twin could see the expression on his face. For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. Then Snape slowly lowered his hands. “I merely thought,” said Snape, in a voice of forced calm, ‘that if the Potter Twins were wandering around after hours again … it’s an unfortunate habit of theirs … they should be stopped. For – for their own safety.”

“Ah, I see,” said Moody softly. “Got their best interests at heart, have you?” There was a pause. Snape and Moody were still staring at each other. Mrs Norris gave a loud miaow, still peering around Filch’s legs, looking for the source of the bubble-bath smell.

“I think I will go back to bed,” Snape said curtly.

“Best idea you’ve had all night,” said Moody. “Now, Filch, if you’ll just give me that egg –“

“No!” said Filch, clutching the egg as though it was his first-born son. “Professor Moody, this is evidence of Peeves’s treachery!”

“It’s the property of the champion he stole it from,” said Moody. “Hand it over, now.” Snape swept downstairs and passed Moody without another word. Filch made a chirruping noise to Mrs Norris, who stared blankly at the twins for a few more seconds before turning and following her master. Still breathing very fast, they heard Snape walking away down the corridor; Filch handed Moody the egg, and disappeared from view too, muttering to Mrs Norris, “Never mind, my sweet … we’ll see Dumbledore in the morning … tell him what Peeves was up to …”

A door slammed. The twins were left staring down at Moody, who placed his staff on the bottom-most stair, and started to climb laboriously towards him, a dull clunk on every other step. “Close shave, you two,” he muttered.

Hermione pulled the Cloak back over them, looking down at their Defense Professor. “Thank you, Professor,” she said quietly, turning back to Harry, now able to put her back into getting his leg out. With a quick wrench, she managed to free his leg finally.

“I don’t suppose you, by any chance, saw who broke into Snape’s office, did you?” Moody asked.

“No, Professor,” Hermione said immediately. “We were coming down the stairs.”

“Hmm, pity,” Moody said, looking back down the stairs. “Oh, if there’s one thing I hate,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, “it’s a Death Eater who walked free …”

“We’re going back to bed now,” Hermione said quietly before Moody or Harry could say anything else, grabbing his hand and slinking quickly past Moody. Harry quickly took the Eggs out of Moody’s proffered hand, nodding his thanks, before slipping back under the Cloak, the bond trembling between the pair of them.

< Pansy’s right, you know, > Hermione said, < it really is all your fault. >

< Why didn’t you tell him that it was Mr Crouch searching Snape’s office? > Harry said.

< No way of proving it, and I’m definitely not showing him the Map, > Hermione said. < He’d take it off us. >

-/-

“Something’s not right,” Sirius said, concern etched into his handsome face as he spoke to Harry and Hermione over the mirror. “The way the Prophet’s been going on … well, they’re making it sound like he’s on his deathbed. He certainly shouldn’t be looting through Hogwarts in the middle of the night.”

“Crouch certainly looked unwell, that night our names came out of the Goblet,” Harry said slowly.

“Serves him right,” Hermione said coldly. “Getting his comeuppance for sacking Winky, isn’t he?”

“Something’s going on with him. First, he doesn’t show up to his seat at the World Cup and now he’s not showing up to the Tournament that **he** helped organise? That’s not the workaholic piece of shit that I knew,” Sirius said, running a hand through his hair. “And why search Snape’s office? Why not use the Tournament as an excuse to keep an eye on the slimy git?”

“Yes, he’s a slimy git, but I don’t understand why Crouch would search his office,” Harry said.

“I’ve never understood why Dumbledore hired him. Snape’s always been fascinated by the Dark Arts, he was famous for it at school. He knew more curses when he arrived at school than half the kids in seventh year and he was part of a gang of Slytherins who nearly all turned out to be Death Eaters.” Sirius help up his fingers and began ticking off names. “Rosier and Wilkes – they were both killed by Aurors the year before Voldemort fell. The Lestranges – they’re a married couple – they’re in Azkaban. Avery – he wormed his way out of trouble by saying he’d been acting under the Imperius Curse – he’s still at large. And then dear old Snape, although as far as I know, he was never even accused of being a Death Eater.” Sirius frowned as he watched Harry and Hermione turn towards each other at that, clearly quickly telepathically talking with each other.

“Right, did we not tell you what we found out about Snape?” Harry said, turning back to the mirror. < I really thought we told him about Snape. >

< I can’t keep track, > Hermione said. < We have a lot of secrets … we must have just forgot when we told Sirius and Remus all that stuff at the start of the year. >

“No, you did not,” Sirius said, Remus shoved his head further into the frame, frowning at them both.

“Oh, well, ummm –“

“He **is** a Death Eater,” Hermione said, butting in. < Just spit it out, there’s not a nice way to put it, > she muttered. “He apparently turned spy for Dumbledore some time during the last war, but yeah, he’s Marked.”

“That fucking miserable greasy c**t,” Sirius snarled, his teeth elongating in his rage. “I’ll fucking kill him. What the fuck isss …” With some effort, he pushed his rage back and his teeth returned to normal. “What the fuck is Dumbledore thinking, letting him teach children? No wonder Crouch was searching his office.”

“Ok, you’re not exactly an unbiased person here, Sirius,” Remus said, wrapping his arms around Sirius. “Dumbledore must trust Snape, for whatever reason.”

< They’re both old gits, as far as I’m concerned, > Hermione said. “That doesn’t matter right now anyway,” she interrupted. “We need to know how to survive the Second Task. Do either of you have any idea what we can do?”

Remus crinkled his brow in thought for a few seconds. “There’s always the Bubblehead Charm, but I don’t know if it would last for the whole hour needed. And if it popped … well, you’d drown …”

“Hmm, pass,” Hermione said.

“Oh, I know,” Remus said, snapping his fingers. “Gillyweed. You’ll have to look up dosages to make sure you get enough for the timeframe … plus a bit extra, but that should do the trick.”


	29. Hogsmeade and Gillyweed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope we're all well. Thanks for all the comments, I love y'all 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >

There was a Hogsmeade visit halfway through January, and the twins were planning on spending the day with their friends down in the village. It was still five weeks til the Second Task, and the only part of their plan still required was sourcing the Gillyweed, so they were looking forward to just relaxing and spending time with their friends.

Harry, Hermione, Pansy, Daphne, Fred, George, and Ginny all left the castle together on Saturday, and set off through the cold, wet grounds towards the gates. As they passed the Durmstrang ship moored in the lake, they saw Viktor Krum emerge onto the deck, dressed in nothing but swimming trunks. They watched incredulously as he climbed up onto the side of the ship, stretched out his arms and dived, right into the lake.

“He must be insane!” Daphne said, staring at Krum’s dark head, as it bobbed out into the middle of the lake. “It’s January, there’s literally snow and ice on the ground.”

“Not to mention the Giant Squid,” Pansy said.

< He must have solved the clue, > Harry said. < Why else would you go swimming now? >

They made their way to the Three Broomsticks. The pub was crowded as ever as Hermione intimidated a few third year Hufflepuffs out of their table, Pansy and Daphne standing behind her with imperious looks on their faces, while Harry and George went to grab some Butterbeers for everyone.

“Doesn’t he ever work?” Ginny said when they returned with drinks, nodding her head towards someone. The rest of the group looked up at the mirror behind the bar to see Ludo Bagman reflected there, sitting in a shadowy corner with a bunch of goblins. Bagman was talking very fast in a low voice to the goblins, all of whom had their arms crossed, and were looking rather menacing. Bagman looked quite strained, as strained as he had done that night in the forest before the Dark Mark had appeared. But just then Bagman glanced over at the bar, saw Harry, and stood up.

“In a moment, in a moment!” they heard him say brusquely to the goblins, and Bagman hurried through the pub towards Harry, his boyish grin back in place.

“Harry!” he said. “How are you? Been hoping to run into you! Everything going all right?”

“Fine, thanks,” said Harry, wondering if Bagman was going to say a word to the six other people at the table.

“Wonder if I could have a quick, private word, Harry?” said Bagman eagerly.

< He must have given up on me, > Hermione said, taking a swig out of her Butterbeer. < Go find out what he wants, Pansy looks curious. >

Suppressing a sigh, Harry let Bagman lead him along the bar to the end furthest from Madam Rosmerta, feeling Hermione slip partway into his mind as he went.

“Well, I just thought I’d congratulate you again on your splendid performance against that Horntail, Harry,” said Bagman. “Really superb.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, but he knew this couldn’t be all that Bagman wanted to say, because he could have congratulated Harry in front of everyone else. Bagman didn’t seem in any particular rush to spill the beans, though. Harry saw him glance into the mirror over the bar at the goblins, who were all watching him and Harry in silence through their dark, slanting eyes.

“Absolute nightmare,” said Bagman to Harry in an undertone, noticing Harry watching the goblins, too. “Their English isn’t too good … it’s like being back with all the Bulgarians at the Quidditch World Cup … but at least they used sign language another human could recognise. This lot keep gabbling in Gobbledegook … and I only know one word of Gobbledegook. Bladvak. It means ‘pickaxe’. I don’t like to use it in case they think I’m threatening them.” He gave a short, booming laugh.

“What do they want?” Harry said, noticing how the goblins were still watching Bagman very closely.

“Er – well …” said Bagman, looking suddenly nervous. “They … er … they’re looking for Barty Crouch.”

< He’s a bad liar, > Hermione breathed as they studied his strained face.

“Why are they looking for him here?” said Harry. “He’s at the Ministry in London, isn’t he?”

“Er … as a matter of fact, I’ve no idea where he is,” said Bagman. “He’s sort of … stopped coming to work. Been absent for a couple of weeks now. Young Percy, his assistant, says he’s ill. Apparently he’s just been sending instructions in by owl. But would you mind not mentioning that to anyone, Harry? Because Rita Skeeter’s still poking around everywhere she can, and I’m willing to bet she’d work Barty’s illness up into something sinister. Probably say he’s gone missing like Bertha Jorkins.”

< Rita Skeeter is still starving in our trunk, but nice to know that no-one’s noticed her missing yet, > Harry said. “Have you heard anything about Bertha Jorkins?”

< It’s driving me crazy, > Hermione said. < I know we know that name from somewhere. >

“No,” said Bagman, looking strained again. “I’ve got people looking, of course … and it’s all very strange. She definitely arrived in Albania, because she met her second cousin there. And then she left the cousin’s house to go south and see an aunt … and she seems to have vanished without trace, enroute. Blowed if I can see where she’s got to … she doesn’t seem the type to elope, for instance … but still … what are we doing, talking about goblins and Bertha Jorkins? I really wanted to ask you,” he lowered his voice, “how are you getting on with your golden egg?”

“Er … fine,” Harry said, trying not to frown. Bagman seemed to think he wasn’t being honest.

“Listen, Harry,” he said (still in a very low voice), “I feel very bad about all this … you were thrown into this Tournament, you didn’t volunteer for it … and if” (his voice was so quiet now, Harry had to lean closer to listen) “… if I can help at all … a prod in the right direction … I’ve taken a liking to you … the way you got past that dragon! … Well, just say the word.”

Harry looked up into Bagman’s round, rosy face, and wide, baby-blue eyes. “We’re supposed to work out the clues alone, aren’t we?” he said, careful to keep his voice casual, and not sound as though he was accusing the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports of breaking the rules.

“Well … well, yes,” said Bagman impatiently, “but – come on, Harry – we all want a Hogwarts victory, don’t we?”

“And yet you asked for me and not my sister. Have you offered Cedric help?” Harry said.

The smallest of frowns creased Bagman’s smooth face. “No, I haven’t,” he said. “I – well, like I say, I’ve taken a liking to you. Just thought I’d offer …”

“Well, thanks,” said Harry, his voice getting colder, “but my **sister** and I are fine, and we don’t need any help.” Before Bagman could say anything else, he stood up and made his way back over to his group of friends. Bagman looked even more concerned before hurrying out of the pub. The goblins all slid off their chairs and exited after him.

Pansy raised an eyebrow at Harry as he sat down again. “He offered to help me with the golden egg,” Harry said, fiddling with the label on his Butterbeer.

“What?” Ginny exclaimed. “He’s one of the judges!”

“Did he say anything about the goblins?” Pansy said, cutting across Ginny, who rolled her eyes at the other girl.

“Err, yeah,” Harry said, tilting his head at Pansy, recognising the same whirr of ideas in her eyes that frequently happened in his sister’s head. “Looking for Crouch apparently. He’s still ill, hasn’t been into work.”

“Maybe Percy’s poisoning him,” Fred joked.

“Probably thinks if Crouch snuffs it, he’ll be made Head of the Department of International Magical Co-operation,” George chimed in.

“What is it?” Harry said, eyeing the smirk on Pansy’s face.

“There’s no reason for the goblins to be looking for Mr Crouch,” Pansy said. “He’s not the right department, and regardless, they wouldn’t be tracking Bagman down to a pub for it. I’d bet a lot of money … ironically, given it’s what no doubt has gotten him into trouble … but I’d bet money that he’s in debt to the goblins, and they’re trying to collect.” Pansy shook her head with a laugh. “What a complete buffoon. The goblins will eat him alive eventually.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped open as she stepped through Pansy’s leaps of logic. “But that means he’s -”

“- offering to help Harry because he’s bet on him,” Fred joined in.

“Because the odds against him are so high,” George finished.

“Ok, it’s creepy enough when the two of you do it,” Daphne said. “The three of you don’t need to start finishing sentences for each other just yet.”

“Also, excuse me, but I did a much better job than Harry at the First Task,” Hermione said.

“Excuse the fuck out of me,” Harry said, kicking her under the table.

-/-

Harry and Hermione stared down at the slimy dark green weed that had arrived by owl that morning. Hermione was still quietly fuming that Harry had vetoed her idea of stealing it from Snape’s cupboards.

< Let it gooooo, > Harry said, tentatively poking the weed. < God, this better fucking work. >

< Remus wouldn’t let anything bad happen to us, > Hermione said confidently. < Anyway, we looked it all up. We know this will work. >

Harry shuddered. < I just hate the idea of it not working when we’re under the lake. This is literally insane. Like at least with the dragons, there were dragon handlers around. What the fuck are we supposed to do if we get into trouble at the bottom of the Lake? >

< Drown, > Hermione said.

< I fucking hate this school, > Harry muttered.

-/-

“Hermione!” Both twins turned to see George hurrying towards them. “They took Fred,” he panted. “He’s the one you have to rescue!” A frantic look entered his eyes. “You have to get him back.”

“Pansy!” Harry whispered, turning back towards the Great Hall.

Hermione clenched her fists, feeling like smoke was about to come pouring out of her ears, the ends of her hair starting to spark. “I’ll fucking destroy whoever thought of this,” she seethed, the bond rippling and sparking. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to calm down. “I’ll bring him back, George. I promise.” She reached up into her hair and pulled out Beau. “Will you look after him for me? I forgot he was in there, and he probably doesn’t want to go swimming.”

George’s furious look was replaced by utter bemusement as Hermione passed the Bowtruckle over.

< They took Pansy! > came Harry’s voice, furious over the bond. He stomped back over to Hermione and George. < Fuck this stupid tournament! >

“We have to go,” Hermione said, nodding at George. < Come on, let’s just go and get this over and done with. >

-/-

As they headed down to the Lake, they saw that the seats that had encircled the dragons’ enclosure in November were now ranged along the opposite bank, rising in stands, waiting for the crowds currently still finishing breakfast in the Great Hall. The world felt oddly silent as they stalked around the other side of the lake towards the gold draped table where the judges were sitting. Hermione’s skin felt not right, like she was burning just underneath, her green swimsuit feeling oddly suffocating, as she forced herself not to glare at all the judges. Harry was actively avoiding Bagman’s eyes, staring fixedly out at the Lake, the bond thrumming dangerously.

Far too quickly, the crowds arrived, their excited babble echoing strangely across the water, as Bagman spaced all the Champions along the bank at intervals of ten feet. The bond had pulsed furiously as the twins were separated. They slowly took off their shoes and clothes, feeling the mud squelch beneath their feet, their wands strapped to their legs, the Gillyweed in a bag strapped to their other leg.

< It'll be ok, Me Me, > Hermione whispered. < At least we can do this task together. >

Bagman pointed his wand at his throat as he had done at the World Cup, said “ _Sonorus_!” and his voice boomed out across the dark water towards the stands. “Well, all our Champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely one hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One … two … three!”

The whistle echoed shrilly in the cold, still air; the stands erupted with cheers and applause. Hermione and Harry locked eyes, ignoring the other Champions, and shoved the Gillyweed into their mouths, wading slowly out into the lake.


	30. Under the Lake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Second Task ... 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Sound off below :)

< FUCK! > Hermione hissed. The lake was so cold that she felt the skin on their legs searing as though this was fire, not icy water. She was chewing the Gillyweed as hard and fast as she could. < This tastes fucking awful, > she complained, furiously trying to swallow down the slimy rubbery plant.

< We look fucking stupid, > Harry said. < All the other Champions are underwater now, and we look like we’re going for a fucking stroll. > Before Hermione could reply, out of nowhere, both felt like an invisible pillow had been slapped over their mouths and a piercing pain seared through their necks. Harry clapped his hands around his throat and felt two large slits just below his ears … < Fuck, we have gills! >

Both twins flung themselves straight into the water, the bond singing as they took in the first gulp of the icy lake water, the water passing smoothly through their gills. Harry swum over to Hermione, waving his hands excitedly in front of her face, which had become webbed. They looked down to see their feet had become elongated and webbed too.

< Oh fuck yeah, > Hermione said. < I mean, obviously, I never had any doubts … but - >

< Yeah yeah, you’re a really brave Gryffindor, > Harry interrupted. < Come on, let’s go rescue Fred and Pansy. > They dived down into the depths of the lake, side by side, the icy water now feeling pleasantly cool.

Silence pressed down on them as they swum deeper and deeper into a strange, dark, foggy landscape. They could only see ten feet around them and as they sped through the water, new scenes seemed to loom suddenly out of the oncoming darkness; forests of rippling, tangled black weed, wide plains of mud littered with dull, glimmering stones.

< Gods, this isn’t right, > Hermione said, glancing around nervously. < We’re meant be on solid ground … I don’t care what magic can do, this is too far. >

< Our mother did some unknown blood ritual in order to save us from death, but us swimming in a lake is too far? > Harry said, staring through the eerily grey-lit water around him to the shadows beyond, where the water became opaque.

< Yes, it’s too far, > Hermione replied. < And I don’t care for your - >

Harry jerked around as a scream ripped down the bond, just in time to see something dragging his sister downwards. Kicking his legs furiously, he reached out and they grabbed hands, only for something to then grab his ankle. Twisting around, he saw several Grindylow, small, horned water demons, their long fingers clutching tightly around their legs, their pointed fangs bared.

< Fuck off, > Hermione seethed, wrenching her wand out of its holster as more Grindylows rose out of the weeds and tried to drag them down. _“Relashio!”_ she tried to shout, bubbles streaming from her mouth. Instead of sparks, a jet of what seemed to be boiling water struck the Grindylows, causing angry red patches to erupt on their green skin. Harry joined in, repeating the spell over and over, until they were finally free. They joined hands again and swam as fast as they could, occasionally sending more jets of hot water downwards as more Grindylows came out of the weeds.

< Gods, I wish Voldemort would just kill us, > Hermione griped, her heartbeat finally slowing down.

< I’ll do it if you keep complaining, > Harry said as they continued to dive even deeper into the lake, nothing moving now except the rippling weed.

“How are you getting on?”

Harry jerked around so fast he felt his neck crack while Hermione screamed over the bond again. He stared uncomprehendingly, waiting for his brain to catch up. Scrunching his eyes shut, he opened them again to see Moaning Myrtle floating hazily in front of him, gazing at him through her thick pearly glasses. Hermione’s scream turned into loud peals of laughter which he tried to block out as he waved uncertainly at the ghost.

“You want to try over there!” Myrtle said, pointing. “I won’t come with you … I don’t like them much, they always chase me when I get too close …”

Harry gave her a thumbs-up and a big smile, sending a painful zap to Hermione as he did, before setting off again.

< Look, we wouldn’t have gotten very far if it wasn’t for Myrtle, > Hermione giggled. < You’re gonna have to start dating her. >

< I **will** leave you to the Grindylows next time, you bitch, > Harry grumbled, kicking his legs as they dived deeper and deeper. They swam on for what felt like at least twenty minutes, passing over vast expanses of black mud now, which swirled murkily as they disturbed the water. Then, at long last, they heard a snatch of haunting mer-song.

_“An hour long you’ll have to look,_

_And to recover what we took …”_

The twins glanced at each other before swimming even faster, and soon saw a large rock emerge out of the muddy water ahead. It had paintings of merpeople on it; they were carrying spears, and chasing what looked like the giant squid. They swam on, chasing the mer-song.

_“… your time’s half gone, so tarry not_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot …”_

< Really charming stuff, > Hermione muttered.

A cluster of stone dwellings stained with algae loomed suddenly out of the gloom on all sides, faces peering out of the windows at them. The merpeople had greyish skins and long, wild, dark green hair. Their eyes were yellow, as were their broken teeth, and they wore thick ropes of pebbles around their necks. They leered at the twins as they swam past, both of them gripping hands even tighter, as some of them emerged from their caves to look closer, their powerful silver fish-tails beating the water, spears clutched in their hands. As they swam on, the dwellings became more numerous, some of them with gardens of weed, one with a pet Grindylow tied to a stake outside. Merpeople were emerging on all sides now, watching them eagerly, pointing at them, talking behind their hands.

< Say it to my fucking face, > Hermione said.

< No no, > Harry said. < We’re not starting a fight here, so kindly keep your mouth shut. >

Before Hermione could argue, a strange sight appeared in front of them. A whole crowd of merpeople were floating in front of the houses that lined what looked like a version of a village square. A choir of merpeople were singing in the middle, calling the Champions towards them, and behind them rose a crude sort of statue; a gigantic merperson hewn from a boulder. Five people were bound tightly to the tail of the stone merperson.

Pansy was tied in between Fred and Cho Chang, Parvati Patil on Cho’s right. There was also a girl who looked no older than eight, whose clouds of silvery hair made them feel sure that she was Fleur Delacour’s sister. All five of them appeared to be in a very deep sleep. Their heads were lolling onto their shoulders, and fine streams of bubbles kept issuing from their mouths.

< Pansy is going to be furious, > Harry said fondly. < I doubt lake water features into her beauty routine. >

< Mmm, I have no idea what she sees in you, > Hermione replied. < She could do so much better. >

Harry rolled his eyes and sped towards the hostages, crossing his fingers that the merpeople wouldn’t charge at them. < I’m not responding to that, > he said, tugging at the ropes of weed. They were thick, slimy and very strong. He looked around, eyeing off some of the spears the merpeople were carrying. Gently approaching one of them, he tried to mime a request to borrow the spear. The merman laughed and shook his head.

“We do not help,” he said in a harsh, croaky voice.

< Are you an idiot? > Hermione said. < You’re a goddamn wizard, not a fucking merman. > She took out her wand and waved it in his face before turning it on the rope. _“Diffindo!”_ she bubbled out, sending a smug look Harry’s way when the rope snapped.

< Shut up, > Harry said, casting the same spell. < Bet I can beat you to the surface. >

< You’re on, > Hermione said, grabbing Fred’s hand and kicking her legs furiously.

Glancing around him, hoping that the others weren’t too far behind, Harry grabbed Pansy and headed after his sister before she could get too far. It was much slower work than before, his mind unhelpfully supplying the word ‘dead-weight’. He checked that bubbles were still coming out of Pansy’s mouth every now and then, before squashing down his anxiety. Pansy would be fine, he just had to beat his sister.

Harry kicked faster and faster as he caught up. Laughing loudly, big bubbles spilling out of his mouth, he swum past his sister, sending several zaps over the bond just to further infuriate her. < Guess all that Quidditch training is good for something, > he gloated. < What a shame you only work out your brain. >

< I’m going to lock you in the trunk with Rita, you fucker, > Hermione screeched, kicking her legs as hard as she could, trying to suck in as much oxygen as she could.

Harry grinned as the water started to lighten, daylight filtering through, and kicked even harder, determined to beat his sister. With a loud crow over the bond, he felt his head break the surface of the lake, the cold clear air making his wet face sting. He kept his neck below the water, his gills still fluttering madly, but knew it’d be wearing off shortly. Ignoring the crowds in the stands, which were making a great deal of noise, Harry turned to Pansy just as she opened her eyes, water pouring out of her mouth and nose, her fringe plastered to her face. She glanced around, looking scared and confused for a moment, before her gaze rested on Harry, who grinned shyly at her.

“I suppose this is what I get for going to the Yule Ball with you,” she remarked, quirking an eyebrow. “Knew I should have gone with Draco.”

Harry laughed loudly. “You’re welcome, my lady,” he said. “It was such an honour to save your life.”

“Well, crack on, dear hero,” Pansy said. “I don’t appear to be on dry land now, do I?”

There was a loud spluttering noise next to them as Hermione and Fred emerged, Fred promptly bursting into laughter and tickling Hermione’s gills while she swatted him away. Rolling their eyes, Pansy and Harry swam towards the bank where the judges stood watching, Harry taking a deep gulp of air as his gills disappeared, his hands going back to normal. Climbing up the muddy bank, he held out a hand to Pansy and helped her to climb out as graciously as was possible. Fred and Hermione, meanwhile, flopped up onto the bank, both covered in mud, and proceeded to throw a bit more at each other.

“Are you certain you’re related to her?” Pansy said, as Madam Pomfrey rushed towards them, thick blankets in her hands.

“Honestly, no,” Harry said, as Madam Pomfrey fussed over them. Dumbledore and Ludo Bagman stood beaming at them, while Percy, who looked very white, came hurrying down to the bank to see Fred. Meanwhile Madame Maxime was trying to restrain Fleur Delacour, who was quite hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to return to the water. < Huh, she must’ve like failed out, > Harry said. < I wonder what happened. >

< I suppose water isn’t her thing, > Hermione mused. < Veela are creatures of fire and air, after all … oh look, Cedric’s back with Cho. >

Harry sat next to Pansy who leaned against him gently, taking the hot potion from Madam Pomfrey which made steam gush out of their ears. They watched as Madam Pomfrey forced Hermione and Fred to clean themselves of all the mud and then curiously as Krum finally emerged with Parvati, his shark head reverting back to his normal face.

“Well, at least you won,” Pansy said. “I definitely couldn’t be seen with a Champion that wasn’t a winner.”

“You have mud and algae in your hair,” Harry said, smirking as Pansy turned to glare at him.

-/-

They all watched as several wild, green-haired heads emerged out of the water, Fleur's sister coming up with them, her silver hair glowing softly as Fleur pushed people out of the way in her haste to get to her sister. Dumbledore crouched down at the water’s edge, deep in conversation with what appeared to be the chief merperson, a particularly wild and ferocious looking female. He was making the same sort of screechy noises that the merpeople made when they were above water. Finally, he straightened up, turned to his fellow judges and said, “A conference before we give the marks, I think.”

Before too long, Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice boomed out beside them, making them all jump, and causing the crowd in the stands to go very quiet. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Mer-chieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows …”

“Miss Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by Grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

“I deserved zero,” Fleur said throatily, shaking her head as applause echoed from the stand.

“Mr Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was fourth to return with his hostage, although was five minutes outside the time limit. We award him forty points. Mr Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was third to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour. We award him forty-four points.”

There were enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd at this pronouncement.

“Now, Miss Hermione Potter and Mr Harry Potter both used Gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued. “They were first to their hostages, and both returned within the hour time limit, Harry emerging from the lake first. For this, we award Hermione forty-eight points, and we award Harry the full fifty points.”

There was loud cheering from the stands at this and Fred excitedly swept Hermione around. Pansy wrapped him up in a big hug. “You realise you and Hermione are equal tied first, right,” she crowed.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The Champions will be notified of what is coming, precisely one month beforehand. Thank you for all your support of the champions.”

Harry swept Hermione into a hug as Madam Pomfrey began herding the Champions and hostages back into the castle to get into dry clothes. < We did it, Mi Mi, > he said.

< You’re a jerk for winning, > she said, < but I suppose we are tied equal now. >

< Like it should be, > Harry said. < After all, what do we have? >

< Just me and mine, > she said. < What do we have? >

< Just Me and Mi. >


	31. Potions and Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone! sorry for the delay again, i moved!!!   
> packing truly is the worst. 
> 
> anyway, we're off again, and the third task is fast approaching. 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> sound off below :)

“Anything?” Hermione asked.

Sirius sighed and shook his head over the mirror. “A few interesting tidbits but nothing really helpful,” he said. “No-one seemed or smelt off, and I didn’t find anything when I searched the Durmstrang ship or the castle.”

“No-one said anything out of the ordinary either,” Remus chimed in. “Werewolf hearing,” he added, seeing the confused look on the twins’ faces. Remus had attended the Second Task Polyjuiced as Sirius while Sirius had gone searching for clues as Padfoot. 

“And nothing interesting in Snape’s office either,” Sirius added, cracking a grin as the twins’ jaws dropped. “Couldn’t help myself … I know it’ll piss him off that someone’s gone into his office again. Still doesn’t explain why others have searched it though. I mean, I wouldn’t put it past Mad-Eye to have searched every single teacher’s office when he got to Hogwarts. He takes his Defence Against the Dark Arts seriously, Moody. I’m not sure he trusts anyone at all, and after the things he’s seen, it’s not surprising. I’ll say this for Moody, though, he never killed if he could help it. Always brought people in alive where possible. He was tough, but he never descended to the level of the Death Eaters. Crouch, though … he’s a different matter … is he really ill?” He sighed heavily. “I don’t like it … you two were put into this Tournament for a reason and there’s only one task left to go. That means that if Voldemort really did put you into this Tournament, that this is his last chance to … attack, basically.”

< What a cheery notion, > Hermione said, frowning slightly as she felt something twang in the back of her mind. She tried to chase the thought but it was gone before she could reach it. 

-/-

The relief that came after seeing that the Second Task had been reported on in a fairly matter-of-fact manner – and thus the twins didn’t have to track down and imprison another irritating reporter – was cut short by Double Potions. Snape was in an utterly foul mood. After seeing Harry and Hermione exchange a glance as he glowered around the classroom, he had swooped down on them. “Talking in class,” he hissed. “Clearly you two need to be separated today.”

The rest of the class had turned to stare incredulously at that, all of them aware by now that the Potter Twins never seemed to actually talk out loud to each other, as Hermione was ordered up to the table in front of Snape’s desk while Harry was banished to the table in the back corner.

< Fucking stupid git, > Hermione seethed as she threw her ingredients into the cauldron and packed up her bag.

< Well, you clearly did something to piss him off, > Harry muttered, dragging his stuff to the back of the dungeon.

< Yeah, I walked into his classroom, > Hermione replied.

< Remember in first year when you were determined to make him like us, > Harry laughed.

< I still maintain that I could have possibly achieved that if he wasn’t such a monumental twat, > she said as she angrily mashed her scarab beetles, imagining each one to have Snape’s face.

“All the attention from this Tournament seems to have inflated you and your brother’s overly large heads,” Snape said quietly, as the rest of the class turned back to their own potions.

< Do NOT respond to that, > Harry shot desperately. < He’s trying to provoke you … rein in your Gryffindor tendencies. >

< I wish you’d just let me set him on fire. >

“While the rest of the wizarding world appears to be impressed with you two,” Snape went on, so quietly that no one else could hear him, “I am not, and I will only give you this one warning.” Harry shoved across the bond as Snape’s voice dropped into a dangerous tone. “If I catch you breaking into my office one more time –“

“We haven’t been anywhere near your office!” Hermione retorted, before Harry could stop her.

“Don’t lie to me,” Snape hissed, his fathomless black eyes boring into Hermione. “Boomslang skin. Gillyweed. Both come from my private stores, and I know who stole them.”

Hermione gave him an unimpressed look, ignoring Harry’s pleas to remain silent. “We have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said haughtily.

“You two were out of bed on the night my office was broken into!” Snape hissed. “I know it! Now, Mad-Eye Moody might have joined your fan club, but I will not tolerate your behaviour! Not to mention what you did the morning of the Second Task! One more stroll into my office and you two will pay!”

“Does Dumbledore know you’re this delusional?” Hermione said derisively, cutting up her ginger roots nonchalantly. < Fucking figures we'd get blamed for Sirius breaking in. >

< What the hell is wrong with you? > Harry said despairingly, his own potion now completely ignored, as Snape’s eyes flashed, and he plunged his hand into the inside of his black robes. For one wild moment, the twins thought he was about to pull out his wand and curse Hermione – but instead, he drew out a small crystal bottle of a completely clear potion.

“Do you know what this is, Potter?” Snape said, his eyes glittering dangerously again.

“Probably not shampoo,” Hermione replied.

“It is Veritaserum – a Truth Potion so powerful that three drops would have you spilling your innermost secrets for this entire class to hear,” Snape said viciously. “Now, the use of this Potion is controlled by very strict Ministry guidelines. But unless you two watch your step, you might just find that my hand slips –“ he shook the crystal bottle slightly “- right over your evening pumpkin juice. And then … well, we’ll find out whether you’ve been in my office or not.”

Harry leaned back into his chair, waiting for whatever trainwreck was about to fall out of his sister’s mouth, when there was a knock on the dungeon door. “Enter,” Snape said, in his usual voice.

The class looked around as the door opened. Professor Karkaroff came in. Everyone watched him as he walked up towards Snape’s desk, Pansy’s eyes widening in horror as she stared at the two of them. Karkaroff was twisting his finger around his goatee again, and looking agitated.

“We need to talk,” Karkaroff said abruptly, when he had reached Snape. He seemed so determined that nobody should hear what he was saying that he was barely opening his lips; it was as though he was a rather poor ventriloquist. Hermione kept her eyes on her ginger roots, Harry still in her head, listening hard.

“I’ll talk to you after my lesson, Karkaroff –“ Snape muttered, but Karkaroff interrupted him.

“I want to talk now, while you can’t slip off, Severus. You’ve been avoiding me.”

“After the lesson,” Snape snapped. Under the pretext of holding up a measuring cup to see if she’d poured out enough armadillo bile, Hermione sneaked a sidelong glance at the pair of them. Karkaroff looked extremely worried, and Snape looked angry.

< End of the lesson, I need you to drop something loudly, > Harry said. < I’ll get under the Cloak and listen to what they’re saying while you quickly clean it up and leave. >

< Nice plan, > Hermione said in an admiring tone.

< Learnt from the best, > Harry smiled, sending her a wave of affection down the bond.

Karkaroff hovered behind Snape’s desk for the rest of the double period. He seemed intent on preventing Snape slipping away at the end of class. As planned, Hermione dropped her brass scales, causing a noisy crash, just seconds before the bell. With everyone’s eyes suddenly drawn, Harry vanished, just in time for the bell to go and the rest of the class to move noisily towards the door.

“What’s so urgent?” he heard Snape hiss at Karkaroff. He hung towards the back of the classroom, wanting to be able to make a quick escape if needed.

“This,” Karkaroff said, and Harry watched as Karkaroff pulled up the left-hand sleeve of his robe and showed Snape what could only be the Dark Mark on his inner forearm. “Well?” he said anxiously. “Do you see? It’s never been this clear, never since –“

“Put it away!” Snape snarled, his black eyes sweeping the classroom.

“But you must have noticed –“ Karkaroff began in an agitated voice.

“I’m not talking about this, Karkaroff,” Snape spat, his robes billowing out behind him as he strode away from Karkaroff.

Harry took the moment to sneak out of the classroom, rounding the corner and ducking into one of the empty classrooms where Hermione was waiting for him. They stared at each, worry humming through the bond. < He’s getting stronger, > Harry said.

< Fucking brilliant, > Hermione said, sliding down the wall until she was sitting, still staring up at Harry. < Sirius is right, you know … the Third Task … >

< I know, > Harry said.

< We’ve been too distracted this year, > Hermione said, twisting her face. < We should be more prepared, be studying more, practicing more spells. We still have no idea how our names got into the Cup, have no idea who did it. I mean, we don’t even really know that it’s Voldemort. >

< He’s still the most likely though, > Harry said. < And we haven’t been distracted. >

< We have, > she said. < Pansy … Fred … all those Hogsmeade visits. The Yule Ball. Even the stupid Tournament, getting all swept up in competing, in the glory and excitement of it all. >

< They’re our friends, > Harry cried. < This is our life … our only life. We can’t think like that, Mi. >

< Yeah, our only life, > Hermione snapped. < And again, someone is trying to kill us. > She swallowed heavily. < What use are we to our friends if we die? >

Harry sank down onto the floor next to her, putting his head on her shoulder. < We’ll solve it, Mi, > he said softly. < We always do. And we’ll do it the same way we’ve done everything else. Together, always, you and me. >

< Me and Mi, > Hermione said, letting her anger and fear drain out of the bond slowly, as they stayed sitting on the floor of the empty classroom.


	32. Crouch and Attack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eeeeeeeee I'm so sorry for the delay.  
> Moving / unpacking / starting a new job. It has been hectic!!!  
> I hope y'all are doing well and keeping safe/healthy. 
> 
> As always, 
> 
> Mind speak is denoted by < xx >
> 
> Sound off below. I've missed everyone's comments.  
> Lots of love xx

The start of the summer term would normally have meant that Harry was training hard for the last Quidditch match of the season, while Hermione frantically poured over all their notes in preparation for exams. This year, however, it was the third and final task in the Triwizard Tournament for which they needed to prepare, not that they knew what they would have to do. Finally, in the last week of May, Professor McGonagall held them back in Transfiguration.

“You two are to go down to the Quidditch pitch tonight at nine o’clock,” she told them. “Mr Bagman will be there to tell the champions about the third task.”

< Nine o’clock? > Hermione whinged. < Why does no-one in this world do anything at a normal time? I still haven’t forgiven anyone for our midnight detention in the Forest. >

< Yes, yes, > Harry said, as they crossed the Entrance Hall and went together down the stone steps, out into the cloudy night. < What d’you reckon it’s going to be? Fleur was going on about underground tunnels, she reckons we’ve got to find treasure. >

< I wonder if we get to keep the treasure, > Hermione pondered, as they walked down the dark lawn to the Quidditch stadium, turning through a gap in the stands and walking out onto the pitch.

Harry stopped dead. < What have they done to my pitch? > he cried indignantly, turning to pout at Hermione who rolled her eyes. The Quidditch pitch was no longer smooth and flat. It looked as though somebody had been building long, low walls all over it, twisting and criss-crossing in every direction.

< They’re hedges, > Hermione said as she examined the nearest one. < Maybe we have to garden … we’re great at that, thanks to Aunt Petunia. >

“Hello there!” called a cheery voice. Ludo Bagman was standing in the middle of the pitch with Krum and Fleur and Diggory. The twins made their way towards them, climbing over the hedges. “Well, what d’you think?” Bagman said happily, as the twins climbed over the last hedge. “Growing nicely, aren’t they? Give them a month and Hagrid’ll have them twenty foot high. Don’t worry,” he added grinning, spotting the less-than-happy expressions on Harry and Cedric’s faces, “you’ll have your Quidditch pitch back to normal once the task is over! Now, I imagine you can guess what we’re making here?”

< A maze, > Hermione said in an unimpressed tone.

< Out loud, > Harry reminded her.

< Absolutely not, > she replied.

“Maze,” Krum eventually grunted.

“That’s right!” Bagman said. “A maze. The third task’s really very straightforward. The Triwizard Cup will be placed in the centre of the maze. The first Champion to touch it will receive full marks.”

“We seemply ‘ave to get through the maze?” Fleur asked.

“There will be obstacles,” Bagman said happily, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “Hagrid is providing a number of creatures … then there will be spells that must be broken … all that sort of thing, you know. Now, the Champions who are leading on points will get a head start into the maze.” Bagman leered at Harry and Hermione. “Then Mr Krum and Mr Diggory will enter … then Miss Delacour. But you’ll all be in with a fighting chance, depending on how well you get past the obstacles. Should be fun, eh?”

< With the type of fucking creatures Hagrid’s going to provide? > Hermione said. 

< Gods, we might actually die, > Harry said, thinking of the Acromantulas, while the other champions nodded politely.

“Very well … if you haven’t got any questions, we’ll go back up to the castle, shall we, it’s a bit chilly …” He immediately started to hurry towards Harry as everyone turned to wend their way out of the growing maze.

< Oh fuck no, > Harry said. Hermione quickly grabbed his hand and dragged him away towards Hagrid’s cabin before Bagman could grab him.

They spent several minutes knocking on Hagrid’s front door to no reply. < Maybe he’s trying to make up with Madame Whatsername, > Hermione said, sitting down on the steps and looking up at the sky. Harry joined her and they sat in silence for several long moments, watching as the moon came up.

< Alright, surely Bagman’s disappeared by now, > Harry said, standing up and dusting his hands off, before reaching back to grab his sister’s hand. They were just about to leave when both of them saw something move in the trees near the cabin. He frantically grabbed Hermione and dragged her behind him, both of them searching the trees, when all of a sudden, a man staggered out from behind a tall oak.

< What the fuck? > Hermione breathed, staring in shock. For a moment, Harry didn’t recognise him … then he realised it was Mr Crouch.

He looked as though he had been travelling for days. The knees of his robes were ripped and bloody; his face scratched; he was unshaven and grey with exhaustion. His neat hair and moustache were both in need of a wash and a trim. His strange appearance, however, was nothing to the way he was behaving. Muttering and gesticulating, Mr Crouch appeared to be talking to someone that he alone could see. He reminded the twins vividly of an old tramp they had seen once when out shopping with the Dursleys. That man, too, had been conversing wildly with thin air.

< He’s supposed to be ill, > Harry breathed, taking a few hesitating steps towards Mr Crouch, who did not look at them, but continued to talk to a nearby tree: “… and when you’ve done that, Weatherby, send an owl to Dumbledore confirming the number of Durmstrang students who will be attending the Tournament, Karkaroff has just sent word there will be twelve …”

< Well, he certainly looks sick, but not in the bedbound way, > Hermione said, still hiding mostly behind Harry.

“Mr Crouch?” Harry tried cautiously.

“… and then send another owl to Madame Maxime, because she might want to up the number of students she’s bringing, now Karkaroff’s made it a round dozen … do that, Weatherby, will you? Will you? Will …” Mr Crouch’s eyes were bulging. He stood staring at the tree, muttering soundlessly at it. Then he staggered sideways and fell to his knees.

Looking helplessly at each other, they took a few more steps closer. “Mr Crouch?” Harry said loudly. “Are you all right?” Crouch’s eyes were now rolling in his head and his breathing had become irregular. Becoming more alarmed, Harry reached for his wand to –

“Dumbledore!” gasped Mr Crouch suddenly, lunging forward and seizing a handful of Harry’s robes, trying to drag him closer, as Hermione yelped and tried to drag him back, choking Harry in the process. “I need … see … Dumbledore …”

“OK,” Hermione said, sticking her head out while Harry massaged his throat, “if you get up, we can go up to the –“

“I’ve done … stupid … thing …” Mr Crouch breathed. He looked utterly mad. His eyes were rolling and bulging, and a trickle of spittle was sliding down his chin. Every word he spoke seemed to cost him terribly. “Must … tell … Dumbledore …”

“Get up, Mr Crouch” Harry said loudly and clearly. “Get up, I’ll take you to Dumbledore!”

Mr Crouch’s eyes rolled forwards onto Harry. “Who … you?” he whispered.

“We’re students at the school,” Harry said, looking around the edge of the forest nervously.

“You’re not … his?” Crouch whispered, his mouth sagging.

< Not his what? > Harry said frantically.

“Nope,” Hermione said loudly. < Haven’t the bloody foggiest, but he’s clearly deranged. >

“Dumbledore’s?”

“Totally,” Hermione said, the sarcasm slightly too loud in her voice.

Crouch started tugging on Harry’s robes again. “Warn … Dumbledore …”

Harry tried to discretely pull his robes back but Crouch’s grip was too powerful. “We’ll get Dumbledore if you let go of me,” Harry said. “Just let go, Mr Crouch, and I’ll get him …”

“Thank you, Weatherby, and when you have done that, I would like a cup of tea. My wife and son will be arriving shortly, we are attending a concert tonight with Mr and Mrs Fudge.” Crouch was now talking fluently to a tree again, and seemed completely unaware that the twins were there, which surprised them so much that they didn’t notice that Crouch had released Harry’s robes. “Yes, my son has recently gained twelve O.W.Ls, most satisfactory, yes, thank you, yes, very proud indeed. Now, if you could bring me that memo from the Andorran Minister for Magic, I think I will have time to draft a response …”

< His wife’s dead, > Hermione said, now squinting at the crazed man, trying to figure it out. < He’s reliving out an old memory. >

< Good for him, > Harry said, turning around to look back up the grounds of Hogwarts to see if anyone was nearby. The movement seemed to trigger another abrupt change in Mr Crouch, who dived forward and grabbed Harry around the knees, knocking them all into the dirt, Hermione pinned under her brother.

“Don’t … leave … me!” he whispered, his eyes bulging again. “I … escaped … must warn … must tell … see Dumbledore … my fault … all my fault … Bertha … dead … all my fault … my son … my fault … tell Dumbledore … Harry and Hermione Potter … the Dark Lord … stronger … Harry Potter …”

< Now what? > Harry said, still trying to wriggle out from Crouch’s grasp.

< Stun him, > Hermione snapped, the bond sparking. < He’s fucking deranged … Dumbledore can sort him out. And hurry up, I can’t breathe under the two of you. >

-/-

The twins looked down at the still body of Mr Crouch. < This looks really bad, > Harry mused, nudging the body with his foot. < He’s definitely still alive, right? >

< It’s going to look worse the moment anyone comes across us, > Hermione said. < We’re gonna have to drag him up to the castle. And yeah, he’s fine. Look, you can see that he’s still breathing. >

< Another normal day, > Harry said, grabbing him under the armpits.

They were barely halfway across the grounds when Hermione dropped the legs down. < FUCK this, > she seethed, now breathing heavily. < We’re goddamn magical, why aren’t we levitating him? > She wrenched her wand out again and pointed it at the unconscious Mr Crouch.

“Vot is going on?” came a voice out of the dark as Krum slouched towards them. He came to a complete standstill as he took in the scene, eyes travelling from Harry still panting to Hermione, her hair sticking out madly, before travelling down her wand to the dishevelled Crouch.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Hermione said.

“Isn’t he vith your Ministry? Vot is wrong with him?” Krum asked.

“He’s very sick,” Hermione said confidently, “so it’s actually a real blessing that you’re here. You can help Harry while I hurry up to the castle and find Professor Dumbledore.”

< Sorry, what now? > Harry said, blinking at her.

< Keep carrying him, I’m going to go find Dumbledore, > Hermione said. She sprinted away before either Krum or Harry could say anything more, hurrying up the dark deserted grounds. She tore up the stone steps, through the oak front doors and off up the marble staircase, towards the second floor, feeling through the bond that Harry had convinced Krum to help him carry Crouch.

Five minutes later she was hurtling towards a stone gargoyle standing halfway along an empty corridor. “Sher-sherbet lemon!” she panted at it. The password had evidently changed for the stone gargoyle did not spring to life and jump aside, but stood frozen, glaring at Hermione malevolently.

< Now what? > Hermione said, glaring back at the gargoyle.

< You can’t annoy it into opening? > Harry said, still battling up the hill.

“Move, you stupid thing,” she shouted at it.

< Fucking hell, there’s no way you’re actually top of the year, > Harry said. Hermione turned and peered down the dark corridor, wondering who the next best person to find would be. 

“POTTER!”

Harry flinched over the bond, sinking down into his sister’s mind at the voice, both of them turning around to stare in horror. Snape had just emerged from the hidden staircase behind the stone gargoyle. The wall was sliding shut behind him even as he beckoned Hermione back towards him. “What are you doing here, Potter? And where’s your equally-worse half?”

“We need to see Professor Dumbledore!” she demanded. “It’s Mr Crouch … he’s just turned up … he’s in the Forest … he’s asking –“

“What is this rubbish?” Snape said, his black eyes glittering. “What are you talking about?”

< Oh, I so don’t have the patience for this, > Hermione seethed. “Mr Crouch!” she shouted. “From the fucking Ministry of Magic! He’s in the Forest, he wants to see Dumbledore! Just give me the password up to –“

“The Headmaster is busy, Potter,” Snape said, his thin mouth curling into an unpleasant smile.

“Listen here, you fucking unpleasant twat,” Hermione snapped. “Crouch is sick, he’s deranged … he says he wants to warn –“

The stone wall behind Snape slid open. Dumbledore was standing there, wearing long green robes, and a mildly curious expression. “Is there a problem?” he said, looking between Hermione and Snape.

“Professor!” Hermione said, forcing her voice into a softer tone and side-stepping Snape before he could speak. “Mr Crouch is here – he appeared out of the Forest, he wants to speak to you! Harry is with him now!”

She half expected Dumbledore to ask questions but, to her relief, Dumbledore did nothing of the sort. “Lead the way,” he said promptly, and he swept off along the corridor behind Hermione, leaving Snape standing next to the gargoyle and looking twice as ugly.

< I’m coming, Me Me, > she said, feeling Harry’s relief over the bond, as she marched swiftly down the marble staircase.

“What did Mr Crouch say, Hermione?” Dumbledore asked, his robes billowing behind him.

“Said he wants to warn you … said he’s done something terrible … he mentioned his son … and Bertha Jorkins …” she trailed off, wondering if she should say something about Voldemort.

“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, and he quickened his pace as they hurried across the Entrance Hall. 

“He’s not acting normally,” Hermione said, hurrying along beside him. “He doesn’t seem to know where he is. He keeps talking like he thinks Percy Weasley’s there, and then he changes, and says –“

She stopped suddenly as the bond ripped violently, making her stumble. Dumbledore turned around in alarm as her eyes glazed over slightly. Furiously, she plunged down the bond which had dimmed to a green so dark it was almost black before coming back to herself as she realised what it meant.

“What is it?” Dumbledore asked, but Hermione had already taken off, sprinting furiously to where she’d last left her brother, half of her pouring her anger and fear down into the bond, letting her magic siphon into her unconscious brother, the other half utterly castigating herself for leaving him alone.

< Me Me! > she screamed as she came across Harry and she threw herself forward onto him.

Dumbledore appeared a few moments later to find Hermione grasping Harry, Krum sprawled on the ground, and no sign at all of Mr Crouch. He bent over Krum and gently lifted one of his eyelids. “Stunned,” he said softly. His half-moon glasses glittered in his wandlight as he peered around the surrounding grounds. He raised his wand into the air and pointed it in the direction of Hagrid’s cabin. Hermione saw something silvery dart out of it and streak away through the trees like a ghostly bird. Then Dumbledore knelt down gently beside her and pointed his wand at Harry and muttered, _“Rennervate.”_

Hermione almost collapsed in relief as Harry opened his eyes and the bond went back to its usual bright green. < Me Me, > she said frantically. < Me Me, I’m so sorry. >

Harry blinked dazedly up at her. < It’s not your fault, Mi Mi, > he said, glancing around at the scene as Dumbledore bent over Krum and cast the same spell, who opened his eyes and looked around still dazed.

“Lie still for a moment,” Dumbledore said, “and then when you can, tell me what happened.”

“I thought I heard something,” Harry said, “so we stopped and –“

“He attacked me!” Krum interrupted, putting a hand up to his head. “The old madman attacked me! I vos looking around to see vot Potter thought he heard, and he attacked from behind!”

“It can’t have been him,” Harry said, before falling silent as the sound of thunderous footfalls reached them, and Hagrid came panting into sight with Fang at his heels. He was carrying his crossbow.

“Professor Dumbledore!” he said, his eyes widening. “Harry … Hermione – what the -?”

“Hagrid, I need you to fetch Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore said. “His student has been attacked. When you’ve done that, kindly alert Professor Moody –“

“No need, Dumbledore,” came a wheezy growl, “I’m here.” Moody was limping towards them, leaning on his staff, his wand lit. “Damn leg,” he said furiously. “Would’ve been here quicker … what’s happened? Snape said something about Crouch –“

“Crouch?” Hagrid said blankly. Harry felt Hermione frown as they sat silently but kept his eyes straight ahead.

“Karkaroff, please, Hagrid!” Dumbledore said sharply.

“Oh yeah … right y’are, Professor …” Hagrid said, and he turned and disappeared into the dark trees, Fang trotting after him.

“I don’t know where Barty Crouch is,” Dumbledore told Moody, “but it is essential that we find him.”

“I’m onto it,” Moody growled, and he raised his wand, and limped off towards the Forest. No-one spoke again until they heard the unmistakeable sounds of Hagrid and Fang returning. Karkaroff was hurrying along behind them. He was wearing his sleek silver furs, and he looked pale and agitated.

“What is this?” he cried, when he saw Krum on the ground, and Dumbledore and the twins beside him. “What’s going on?”

“I vos attacked!” Krum said, sitting up now, and rubbing his head. “Mr Crouch or votever his name –“

“Crouch attacked you? **Crouch** attacked you? The Triwizard judge?”

“Igor,” Dumbledore began, but Karkaroff had drawn himself up, clutching his furs around him, looking livid.

“Treachery!” he bellowed, pointing at Dumbledore. “It is a plot! You and your Ministry of Magic have lured me here under false pretences, Dumbledore. This is not an equal competition! First you sneak those Potter twins into the Tournament, though they are underage! Now one of your Ministry friends attempts to put my champion out of action! I smell double-dealing and corruption in this whole affair, and you, Dumbledore, you, with your talk of closer international wizarding links, of rebuilding old ties, of forgetting old differences – here’s what I think of you!”

Karkaroff spat onto the ground at Dumbledore’s feet. In one swift movement, Hagrid seized the front of Karkaroff’s furs, lifted him into the air, and slammed him into the ground. Harry winced as he felt the ground shudder slightly.

“Apologise!” Hagrid snarled, as Karkaroff gasped for breath, Hagrid’s massive fist at his throat.

“Hagrid, no!” Dumbledore shouted, his eyes flashing. Hagrid removed the hand pinning Karkaroff to the ground, and Karkaroff gasped for breath.

< Fuck these people are dramatically stupid, > Hermione said. < Also, we were literally attacked too. >

“Kindly escort the twins back up to the castle, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said sharply.

Breathing heavily, Hagrid gave Karkaroff a glowering look. “Maybe I’d better stay here, Headmaster …”

“You will take the twins back to school, Hagrid,” Dumbledore repeated firmly. “Take them straight back to their dormitory. And Harry, Hermione – I want you to stay there. You’re not to leave your dormitory, do you understand me?”

Harry nodded as politely as possible, ignoring Hermione’s immediate scheming to leave their dorm.

“I’ll leave Fang with yeh, Headmaster,” Hagrid said, still staring menacingly at Karkaroff, who was still sprawled ungracefully on the ground. “Stay, Fang. C’mon, you two.”

They marched in silence past the Beauxbatons carriage and up towards the castle. “How dare he,” Hagrid growled, as they strode past the lake. “How dare he accuse Dumbledore. Like Dumbledore’d do anythin’ like that. Like he wanted you two in the Tournament in the firs’ place. Worried! I dunno when I seen Dumbledore more worried than he’s bin lately. An’ you two!” Hagrid suddenly said angrily to Harry and Hermione, who looked up at him, confused and taken aback. “What were yeh doin’, wanderin’ off with ruddy Krum? He’s from Durmstrang! Coulda jinxed yeh right there, couldn’ he? Hasn’ Moody taught yehs nothin’? Imagine lettin’ him lure yeh off on yer own … Trus’ me, the less you lot ‘ave ter do with these foreigners, the happier yeh’ll be. Yeh can’ trust any of ‘em.” Neither twin had anything to say to that, and were quite glad to say goodbye to him when they reached the dungeons, both of them quickly scurrying towards the trunk.

-/-

< You’re definitely sure it wasn’t Crouch? > Hermione asked, as she ran her worried gaze over her brother.

< I’m fine, Mi, > Harry reassured her. < Just a light Stunning … we’ve both had much worse. And no, it can’t have been. I thought I heard something … which clearly, I must have. I was letting my senses spread out to try and figure it out when I was hit with a Stunner … but Crouch was definitely still unconscious when I was doing that. Not to mention, you saw him. I don’t think he was up to attacking anyone. Let alone then vanishing. >

< We don’t know what he could possibly get up to, > Hermione snapped. < He’s supposed to be sick, on his fucking deathbed, and he had clearly just trekked through the entire fucking Forest. We both know what type of hell-beasts are in that place. > She took a deep breath in, letting the bond calm down. < But if he was still unconscious, that means someone else attacked all three of you, and disappeared with Crouch on top of that. And in not much time either. I knew the moment you’d been attacked, Me Me. > She broke off at that.

Harry reached out and grabbed her hands. < I’m right here, Mi Mi, > he said. < And I’m glad you weren’t there. Who knows how long it would have taken to be found otherwise? >

< What if something worse had happened? > Hermione said, the bond starting to swell again as she felt the helplessness rise up inside her. < How would I live if something happened to you because I wasn’t there? How could I leave your side like that? It’s **me** and **mine** , Me and Mi, and I just left you. >

< You could never leave me, > Harry whispered, gathering her up in his arms. < Mi heart, > he said tenderly. < I call you that because it’s true. You’re my heart, Mi Mi. You’re my soul. I won’t let you beat yourself up over this. You did the right thing. >

< I won’t do it again, > she said stubbornly. < I won’t. The bond … > she shuddered. < I felt this ripping sensation … I don’t understand it. You’ve been hurt before and even unconscious before … >

< Yeah, but we were expecting it, > Harry said. < Usually, we’re getting knocked out together. This came out of nowhere. I can’t imagine how scared you must have been. But I’m here, and we’re ok. Come on, don’t think about it. Put that brain to use and figure out who attacked me. >

An ugly look crossed her face at that. < I’ll fucking kill them when I figure it out, > she spat, before settling into a comfortable position and running the events over in her mind. < What do we know? >

< He wanted to warn Dumbledore about something, > Harry said. < Kept saying stuff was his fault. He said Bertha Jorkins was dead. Mentioned his son. >

< Mentioned us, > Hermione said grimly.

< Said Voldemort is getting stronger, > Harry replied.

< It’s hard to logic out, > Hermione said, < because he wasn’t logical. He was clearly out of his mind half the time, trapped in the past. He was filthy, unkempt, covered in scratches. >

< The stuff about him being sick then are probably lies, > Harry said. < He must have been kept captive. > He gasped suddenly, his eyes glowing brighter. < He was! Remember ... he said he'd escaped. So he **was** held captive. >

< And probably tortured, > Hermione said, her mind starting to pick up steam now. < Captured and tortured, somehow escaped. Driven a bit mad. Explains why he’d choose to walk to Hogwarts through the fucking Forbidden Forest. >

< Yeah, but if he’d escaped someone, going into the Forest isn’t a bad way of keeping someone off your tail, > Harry pointed out.

< Yeah, because any sane person would assume you’d been hideously killed in the Forest, > Hermione said darkly. < Ugh, if Snape hadn’t held me up, I could have made it back to you in time. > She perked up at that.

< No, > Harry said tiredly. < There’s no way Snape made it down to us before you did, not unless he can turn himself into a bat or something … I am surprised he didn’t come along with Dumbledore though. >

< And why did he tell Moody? > Hermione said. < Something there doesn’t add up either. > She sat bolt upright as the bond flared suddenly. < The Map! > she crowed and dived across the room to her bottomless bag. Tapping the parchment, they watched as the entire castle spread out in front of them. < See if you can find Crouch, > she said, scanning it quickly. < It had to be someone within the grounds who attacked you. They could still be keeping Crouch captive here. >

< Why someone on the grounds? Crouch just wandered on in, why not someone else? > Harry said, his eyes flicking back and forth.

< The wards, remember, > Hermione said. < Crouch was allowed through the wards because he was a judge. >

< They’re not infallible, > Harry said. < They let Sirius through as an Animagus. There’d be other ways around it, I’m sure. >

< Gods, you’d fucking hope Dumbledore fixed that, > Hermione said. < I can’t find him anywhere. >

< I think he’s been taken off the grounds again, > Harry said. < That’d be the smart thing to do … and look, Moody is already back in his office. >

Hermione frowned. < He didn’t look for very long, > she said indignantly.

< He’s an Auror, > Harry shrugged. < I’m sure he has more advanced ways of searching that we know of. >


End file.
